Canisp II: Vesta
by Shrrgnien
Summary: Just because CS Lewis never told their stories doesn't mean they weren't there. Or, the story of a Horse and her boy, the downfall of the Secret Police and of healing and redemption; of friendship and brotherhood, loyalty and betrayal, bonds broken and forged anew, trust and love and strength and, above all, of courage in all its forms.
1. Hosni

**A/N: **Welcome, dear heart.

This is the second installment of my _Canisp_ series; hopefully, you noticed that because of the "Canisp II" in the title, but just in case. "But Jo," I hear you say, "You murdered the bejesus out of everyone, how is there another book?" Because there's another story to tell, obviously. You should read it! Hosni will take good care of you for the introduction. Don't worry; he's not exactly what you'd call a POV character. This is still Canisp's story, and we'll be rejoining her shortly. But, jeez, it's not like she's the ONLY untold story in the universe! The people around her, as we saw in the last book, are just as—if not much, much more—important.

**Chapter 1-Hosni**

Hosni was born to silence.

His mother screamed, fighting to breathe, to bring him into the world as an impatient older woman stood over her. Kitchen girls had no business bringing useless mouths into the world, and this one was particularly stubborn.

Hosni didn't scream. No more did he flinch at loud noises, or cry when the clamor of the kitchens should have kept him awake; his mother said fondly that the boy might well have slept through a stampede. He was called well-behaved, subdued, even obedient.

Wiser heads saw truer. As his mother struggled against the guards, a physician stood over the stone-deaf infant with a wickedly sharp tool, and from that moment Hosni would never cry again.

This, of course, was the idea behind the cruel surgery, the coldly severed infant vocal cords. The Tisroc always kept two or three deaf-mute slaves. They were used at secret councils, negotiations, delicate conversations; anything the Palace people wanted to keep secret. Deafness could be instigated, of course, with certain potions; but regaining the sense of hearing was not unheard-of, and the Tisroc was not wasteful with his resources.

From the moment of his birth, Hosni was groomed to this task. He learned how to keep his eyes lowered respectfully while at the same time watching for the signals that would accompany his orders. He learned how to walk backwards down unfamiliar hallways and staircases, carrying a flaming torch, without pausing. He learned how to respectfully indicate that he hadn't understood an order, and also that such an indication was usually followed by a blow and thus was not to be taken lightly.

Most of all, he learned how to watch. This was a lesson no one could teach him; he simply learned. He couldn't hear, but he could _see_, and before long he was able to look at a person and figure out who they were; their character, their relationship with everyone in a room, and perhaps most usefully the likelihood that they would kick at a young slave-boy simply because he was there.

Deaf-mute slaves were rare and valuable enough to ensure that Hosni was kept in decent health; however, that in and of itself was enough to make him a target. A young cripple who earned better food and quarters of his own—and as he was small-boned and sensitive in addition to being unable to hear someone coming or yell for help, he was a favorite bullying target and scapegoat. The incidents grew worse and worse, until one day at the age of ten he stumbled into his sleeping quarters covered in bruises and with a badly broken nose. His outraged mother, who knew how to communicate with Hosni as only a mother could, demanded to know who was responsible. Like all Calormene slaves, Hosni had no concept of letters; however, even at the age of ten he was a master of another form of written communication.

Hosni could _draw. _Working with a thin, charred stick, he managed to capture the idea, if not the image, of his opponent. Tall and wearing a cloak, a purple one, and black shoes with points; his turban was black as well, with purple tassles around the fringe, and he wore a pendant with the image of Tash in amethyst on a thick golden chain. The sketches were more than enough for his mother to recognize Ristar Tarkaan-to-be, his father's eldest son and a singularly unpleasant character. That very day, Hosni's mother went boldly to Rabadash, still a prince at the time, and demanded Ristar be brought under control.

One does not make demands of a Prince.

Rabadash, infuriated by her audacity, flew into a rage and would have flayed her on the spot had his Vizier, also furious, not demanded a public example. She was dead within hours, leaving her young son alone. No one could even figure out how to tell him what had happened; but while he may have been dumb, Hosni was not stupid. He knew.

Why, you may ask, is Hosni's tale important? Certainly he was unfortunate, but why is it necessary to know him?

The answer to this question arrived five years after Hosni's mother's untimely death. At fifteen years old, Hosni was no longer a child, but a young man who had refused to draw so much as a line in the dust since his mother had been killed.

One day, he abruptly changed his mind.

The day began with the tense wake-up call he had become accustomed to. Shaken roughly out of bed, he had hurriedly lit a torch and preceded the Tisroc to a small, secluded room. This was one time when watching was not a good idea. He tried not even to see; he tried to forget the route he took, forget the faces he saw, forget that he even existed. It wasn't a guarantee that he would survive, but if he had tried to remember his death would have been a certainty.

Try as he might, he couldn't help but notice some things. Deaf-mutes were rarely used for things along the line of planning surprise birthday parties. More often it was reports from spies, assassination plots, and other things of a similarly cheerful nature. Hosni, of course, could neither hear what was said nor repeat it; but having intelligence higher than that of the average rock, he usually picked up on the basic idea.

Not this time, however. This time, he had been truly puzzled. A young Tarkaan had knelt and made a report, seeming strangely excited. The Tisroc had been skeptical at first, but eventually seemed convinced. He spoke, and the young captain bowed and hurried from the room. The Tisroc, however, remained, pacing the room restlessly until he abruptly motioned for the slaves to precede him. Hosni, naturally, had done so, eventually ending up flanking the Tisroc's throne; he and another deaf-mute slave whose name he had no way of knowing.

Some time later, a trumpet fanfare Hosni didn't hear prompted the Tisroc Rabadash to shift slightly, sitting up straighter on his opulent throne. No sooner had he done so than the huge scarlet doors of the Palace opened, and a fascinating group entered.

Four of the bunch held little to no interest for Hosni; they were just more soldiers in Calormene armor. He looked through them as they looked through him.

It was the others who interested him. If you have not grown up a Calormene slave, you cannot imagine what a treat it is to the eyes to see a free-born Narnian. Even with her skin dyed brown, wearing an orange robe that didn't quite fit her, there was something very different about the young woman who strode at the head of the group, something very non-Calormene, and her flashing golden eyes were the least of it. There was a boldness in the way she held herself, a kind of loving fierceness in her demeanor that Hosni found very refreshing. While this singularly fearless person was not mounted, she was clearly the leader; it was with a queen's pride that she strode—with a strange, semi-liquid grace—at the head of a creature that took Hosni's breath away.

Oh, the Calormene girl _astride_ the horse was beautiful as well; or at least, she looked like she would be when not pale and covered in blood. But the _horse_…Hosni swallowed a painful lump. What was it about that mare that he found so heartbreakingly familiar? It took him a few seconds to understand. Looking in the Horse's eyes, he knew that hers too was not a world of language; she, too, was a watcher.

Sensing his gaze, the mare's bright black eyes locked onto Hosni's and widened slightly.

They had no language in common, but the soul needs no words to speak. The instant their eyes met, they could sense the other's overwhelming relief. Their silent, incomprehensible world was suddenly a little less empty.

Left to their own devices, both boy and horse could have stayed that way indefinitely, simply drinking in the presence of a kindred spirit. The world, however, had other ideas. Ishdar Tarkaan, after proper introductions had been made, was quick to look to the injured girl. The leader's eyes narrowed distrustfully as he helped her dismount, but he did nothing more sinister than wave over a manservant, who took her carefully in his arms and carried her from the room. Only a tiny part of Hosni's mind registered this; only when a groom in fine clothes was summoned to take the Horse was he able to shake himself back into reality. The chestnut mare balked when the groom tried to lead her away, backing and throwing up her head in something akin to panic. She cast a frantic glance back at Hosni, who understood the sentiment only too well. He couldn't stand the thought of losing her. Not when he had to find out who she was, what she was doing here…

The Narnian, misunderstanding the cause of her friend's concern, stepped forward and said something to the Tisroc. The Horse was still visibly upset as the woman took her reins and patted her, gently leading her away; but she clearly harbored too much respect for her to fight. Never realizing the pain she was causing her companion, she led her out of the palace.

Hosni was only a slave. It wasn't in his power to so much as ask questions about the horse, let alone visit her. And so, he did what he had done all his life.

He watched.

From a hidden nook, he watched the grooms prepare a roomy loose box for the Horse. He became slightly less anxious on seeing just how well she was treated, but it still made the young man's heart sore to see the look in her eyes. She was so much more than even they were making of her, and she knew it.

Hosni also watched the other members of her party. It was obvious that the Eagle, as well, was more than he appeared, but he was a Talking Beast. His eyes were not those of a watcher, and he was not a part of Hosni's world.

Hosni watched as the slave-girl (he'd been right; she really was beautiful, with clever eyes and a boldness in her bearing that he wasn't used to seeing in people like him) healed from her injuries, and found to his surprise that he was worried about her. He watched her grow stronger, and was happy to see that she had a quick, ready smile, and that her mistress clearly cared deeply about her. He would have hated it if she had been mistreated, though he wasn't quite sure why.

The older girl—the light-skinned one with the feather in her hair—interested him. He did what he could to catch glimpses of her, something not quite as difficult as looking for the horse he couldn't help but think of as _his_, as the Narnian was more frequently about the Palace. He was stunned one evening when he saw her transform into a snowy wolf right before his eyes, casually and as if it were the most normal thing in the world. She must have heard him gasp from the shadows, because she whirled toward him, flaring huge wings that he hadn't noticed before. The intensity as her fierce golden eyes burned into his chilled Hosni, and he froze.

In that instant, hers was the face of a hunter.

But the moment passed. The wolf relaxed, ran out her tongue, and smiled. She gave a small wag of her tail and barked in a friendly way, and Hosni grinned before remembering himself and hastily giving a deep bow. When he looked up again, the creature's head was cocked in a confused way. She gave a concerned sort of yip and took half a step forward, but at that point someone else came around the corner and Hosni, who wasn't supposed to be in that part of the Palace, ducked down the servant's stairway in which he'd been hiding, vanishing so suddenly that if Canisp had blinked she would have missed it.

Eventually, Hosni would learn that she hadn't been barking, but trying to ask his name.

Throughout all of this, Hosni's mind never wandered far from the Horse, and it must be confessed he went slightly mad. With charcoal on scraps of paper when he could find them, and on the walls and floor of his quarters when he couldn't, he sketched her; what little he could gleam from his brief glimpses, that is. But try as he might, he could replicate only the proud toss of her head, the way she lifted her feet regally in a trot. One whole wall was devoted to a life-size rendering of her in full gallop, inky mane and tail streaming out behind her. But none of these drawings could capture that indescribable look in her eyes; the look of a watcher.

He needed to _see_ her.

Once this idea occurred to him, he determined that he would do it. It would have to be done carefully, but it could be done. One night, he slipped out of his little room and began the journey. A new, clean sheet of parchment—stolen, as it happens, from a Tarkheena's vanity table—rolled up his sleeve, he inched along, sticking to the shadows, watching, always watching. Unable to hear whether anyone was approaching, he had to be doubly cautious and the trip took twice as long. Still, he finally managed to make his way to the stables, find her stall, and slip inside.

He was met by an untamed rush of wild-cherry fur. Snorting in delight and relief, his Horse nuzzled him, shoved him playfully, rested her head on his shoulder and pulled him close in a firm equine embrace. Blinking back unexpected tears, Hosni flung his arms around her strong neck, hugging her tightly, ruffling her ebony mane and kissing her velvet nose. After quite a few minutes of this, he drew back and took out his stolen parchment and a thin stick, charred to perfection at one end, which he had carefully prepared for this meeting. Hosni didn't know how much time he had, and he was determined to draw his horse properly for once. Working by the moonlight shining brightly through the stall's exterior door, Hosni began. Here, up close, he could see her expression clearly, and he was sure he could capture it.

However, he had barely begun when a flicker of movement in his peripheral vision made him look up. The next second his charred stick fell from his fingers as he scrambled back in shock. He would have screamed if he could.

Glaring at him through the bars were two furious eyes, burning green in the dark.


	2. Horrors and Hermits

**A/N: **If you don't think the Hermit of the Southern March is awesome then you are wrong.

**Chapter 2-Horrors and Hermits**

Canisp glanced around frantically. She could _feel_ the abyss, behind her in the blackness, but even with her night vision she couldn't see past the first few feet. A flake of rock broke off under her heel and tumbled over the edge of the cliff, disappearing into the gloom.

A silent line of dull grey werewolves stepped out of the dark mist. The lead male leered at her. His eyes were red in the night.

"Make your choice," he said, in the voice of werewolves that made Canisp's flesh crawl. "You cannot run."

The wolf next to her gave a snarl; a most un-Thorlike sound, but it could be excused given the circumstances. She brushed him lightly with her wing to reassure him, never looking away from the werewolf horde. His fur felt coarse; it must have been damaged in his flight through the forest.

"That's what you think," she snapped. Thor growled in agreement, and together the two wolves whirled around and fled blindly into the forest.

The trees were thick and hostile. Brambles and thorn bushes snagged her fur and creeping vines tangled her feet. She could hear Thor crashing through the undergrowth behind her. Gradually, the sounds of werewolf pursuit faded, and she slowed to a stop in the center of a moonlit clearing, listening intently. The only sounds were her breathing and that of her companion, who was panting slightly just behind her.

"We made it," she breathed, weak with relief, and turned around.

It wasn't Thor.

Maugrim stood there, huge and monstrous, with dark blood dripping from his jaws. Canisp backpedalled wildly in terror, and bumped into a rough stone wall. A cell—she had never left the dungeon. Chains snaked around her rear feet and locked in place. She fought them desperately, but to no avail; the bonds just tightened. Maugrim gave a slow, unpleasant smile and stalked towards her. There was a sudden, sharp pain in her left ear—

* * *

—and Canisp's eyes flew open as she jerked violently awake. She suffered a moment of fresh panic when she realized someone was holding her muzzle shut, but then she recognized Orion, his powerful talons clamped tightly around her jaw to stifle any sound she might have made; and also, she reflected regretfully, to stop her from biting him in her panicked state.

"Are you all right?" he asked anxiously, loosening his vice-like grip and hopping back slightly. His normally fierce eagle eyes were worried.

Canisp took a shaky breath. "I'm fine," she whispered.

Orion narrowed his eyes, turning his head to regard her directly. "You were having that nightmare again."

Canisp didn't answer. She didn't have to; it was a fairly obvious statement. She had been plagued by this same nightmare, and several variations, for the last…however long it had been. There was no way to measure time accurately when they flitted between worlds so often, but they thought it had been roughly a year since they left Narnia.

"Canisp," said Orion miserably, "How can I help?"

Canisp gritted her teeth, unnaturally angry at the Eagle. "You are helping," she said as evenly as possible. "Just…keep waking me up. I appreciate it."

"There has to be something we can do!"

She gave a heavy sigh. "Nothing we haven't tried before." They had tried everything. Poinsettia tea and sleeping in human form as opposed to wolf—Canisp's ideas—had done nothing. At one point, a kind ally had given them a potion intended to grant sleep without dreams.

Perhaps the potion was faulty; perhaps the terrors were simply too powerful.

Canisp had never told Orion what she had dreamed about that night; she refused to speak about it at all beyond "It was worse." But the sleeping draught had held her in unconsciousness, and not even Orion's deadly talons digging into her shoulder, drawing blood as he shrieked a death-knell into her ear, could drag her back.

They had stopped trying to think of ideas after that.

"I'll take over the watch," said Canisp shortly. The genocide that had nearly obliterated life in these hills might have been averted, but their enemies were still alive, and not all of them were pleased to be allies again. It wouldn't do to let their guard down now, even if peace was on its way.

"No," said Orion. "You need rest."

"So do you," she retorted. Seeing that this argument had not swayed him in the slightest, she muttered, "It's only for an hour or so. Then I'll wake you."

The bicolor Eagle sighed and gave a soft, sad _kree,_ but nodded his acceptance. Canisp pushed herself shakily upright, shifting into human form as she did so. She held out her right fist to Orion, and he fluttered onto it. Standing, she placed him on the branch he had only recently vacated to wake her. After giving the changeling one last, worried look, Orion tucked his head under a black-and-white wing. His curious snores—_snoork…tseer...snoork...tseer-_began after only five minutes, and Canisp was glad she'd made him sleep.

She sank down, wrapping her arms around her knees. Change was a part of who she was; indeed, it was quite literally what she was made of. One thing that never changed, however, was her heart. Like all Wolves her loyalties were absolute, her emotions deep-rooted and powerful. She never betrayed—or forgot—the people she had loved.

She turned her face to the sky, wishing desperately to see the old Narnian constellations. The stars here seemed so much farther away.

Canisp might possibly have stayed in that position all night, had something not bumped her from behind. She jumped and whirled around, whipping out a deadly silver hunting knife in the process. The chestnut mare who had nudged her snorted and took a half-step back, eying the blade nervously.

Canisp gave an apologetic grimace. "Sorry," she whispered, patting the horse's neck reassuringly.

The mare nickered in concern, nudging her again. Canisp rubbed her nose, remembering how the horse—an extraordinary creature more unfortunate, perhaps, than any other in Narnia—had come to join them.

* * *

It was a beautiful summer day in Narnia.

Canisp smiled at the thought. _A summer day in Narnia._ The words alone were like something out of a dream.

"_Kyeer!"_

Orion plummeted past her head with an exhilarated cry, diving toward the forest below. No flying creature in the world could fail to recognize the challenge. Folding her wings, Canisp dropped like a stone after her friend.

Even with everything that had happened, even with the grief still curled around her heart, flying with Orion always managed to life her spirits into absolute euphoria.

And why shouldn't she be happy? she thought in a rush of joy. Narnia was saved, the Witch was dead, and she was following Aslan's own instructions; that before she could set out on the path she had chosen, she must make this considerably shorter journey. They were traveling to the Hermit of the Southern March, in search of one who needed them. They hoped they would know the person when they found them.

Canisp pulled out of the dive first, straining against her momentum and the force of gravity to avoid crashing into the trees. Orion's laughter echoed up to her, and she gave an irritated huff. She was beautiful in the air; her enormous wings, nearly ten feet from tip to tip, were graceful, flawless, and extremely powerful. Power had a price, however, and that was speed and maneuverability. While Canisp had yet to meet a Wolf who could outfight her, Orion made her look slow and cumbersome, darting about as he did.

She wondered idly what she wouldn't give to beat him in a race, just once.

He flapped up to join her, wearing the strange expression that is the Eagle approximation of a grin. Altering the angle of his feathers, he caught the current of wind he had been previously riding and closed his eyes. Canisp did the same. It was the most amazing feeling in the world; the sun on her back, her feathers growing hot; and then the contradictory coolness of the air and the shifting currents, her wings altering position almost automatically to keep her steady. It was like being at peace.

This, she thought, was why she had always loved being with Ori. He simply loved life, unconditionally; acknowledging hardships, addressing them, and living as happily as possible despite them.

And he helped her heal. Right now, the only thing real was the bliss of riding the wind. After a few deflections and one heated argument, he had learned not to mention the deaths, or what she had suffered at the mercy of the Vereor. He willingly focused on the present and the future, and left the painful past gently alone. She could be whole and happy around Orion… except at night, when he woke her from her nightmares. At those times she wanted nothing to do with him, and she didn't know why.

Shaking off the dark thoughts as best she could, she angled down toward the small green square that was their destination.

"Ori!" she called, laughing. "Come back!"

Orion flared his wings, dropping sideways for a few feet until he could reassert control. He looked puzzled as he landed in a tree next to her. "Why are we out here?" he asked. "We could have just landed inside the wall!"

Canisp looked askance at him. "You don't know much about houses, do you?"

He puffed his feathers indignantly. "Of course I do," he answered, offended. "But I wasn't going to land in the _house."_

Canisp tried and failed not to smile.

Orion's confusion was cut off by a voice from the gate.

"Greetings, cousins."

The speaker was a tall man, wearing a clean white robe and with a very long, white beard, which reached below his knees. He held a long staff in his right hand, and his left was undoing the latch on the gate. "Come in, my daughter," he said to Canisp. "And you as well, noble flying cousin. First I must milk my cousins the goats, and then we shall have our noon meal and you shall meet my other daughter, whom Aslan wishes to accompany you in your travels."


	3. Half-Blood

**Chapter 3-Half-Blood**

The little hermitage was quite possibly the loveliest place Canisp had ever seen. The high walls were covered in shining-leafed vines, as was the simple but well-made lean-to directly to the right of the gate. A horse the color of a wild cherry grazed on grass that was thick, cool, and soft. On the right was a spreading oak tree. Nestled among the roots of the oak was a pool Canisp knew instantly to be magic; it was ringed in round stones, and appeared to be filled with swirling mother-of-pearl mist instead of water. The surface of the pool was smooth as glass.

On her left grew a well-tended garden of herbs and vegetables. Beside that was a humble, inviting house of worn gray stone. On the far side of the house was a low-roofed building of dark wood, outside of which were four goats, waiting to be let inside and milked. One adventurous young kid tripped over to Canisp and looked up at the changeling with curious liquid-brown eyes. Canisp felt a foolish grin spreading across her muzzle as she watched him. Suddenly, she dropped down on her front paws and gave a low "_whuff!"_ The silky brown infant scrambled back to his mother. Peeking out between her legs, the kid gave a defiant bleat.

With a rush of air, Orion alighted on the top of the stone wall, chuckling at his friend's antics. The Hermit, closing the gate softly after Canisp, also smiled. Then, addressing Orion, he said, "Noble cousin, will you be uncomfortable in my home?"

Dipping his white head, Orion answered truthfully, "I rather think I would, sir. We Eagles find it rather frightening to be under a roof."

The Hermit inclined his head. "We shall enjoy our noon meal in the shade of this great tree. But dear cousin, there is no need to call me 'sir'; for we are all family in this world, brothers and sisters, sons and daughters. Please be comfortable while I milk my four-footed cousins."

* * *

Lunch with the Hermit was simple but delicious. He placed a large bowl of clear, fresh water beside Canisp, along with some warm bread and a wooden plate of perfectly cooked chicken, flavored with tarragon. He had cut the meat into slices roughly half an inch thick, and Canisp was extremely grateful for it. Among other Wolves or Beasts she felt perfectly at ease enjoying her meals in typical lupine fashion; that is, simply ripping off chunks of meat. Among Humans, Dwarfs, Fauns, and the like, however, she had always felt singularly awkward. She had difficulty using knives and forks, and thus chose to take her meals almost exclusively in wolf form, but couldn't help but feel out of place ripping savagely into her food like…well, an animal. These slices of chicken, however, were easy to eat with dignity. For Orion, the hermit had kept part of the chicken intact. This he tossed into the air. Orion swooped down and caught it easily, returning to his branch to eat his meal. _He_ had no reservations about his natural style of eating; Eagles are too proud a race for that.

Once they had finished their lunch (and nothing is better than chicken and tarragon if it is well done), Canisp felt they really must press on to the purpose of their visit.

"I wonder, father," she said to the hermit, "If you could tell us more about this travelling companion we're supposed to have? Do you know where we can find her?"

The Hermit smiled. "Yes, my daughter. You do not have far to look; she is here." He extended a hand to his right, indicating the dark red horse.

Canisp's eyes flicked up to Orion. He met her glance with one equally skeptical. The Hermit didn't miss the look. He smiled. "Perhaps I had best explain."

Canisp inclined her head. "We'd appreciate that."

The Hermit paused for several moments before he began his tale. "It was four summers ago, very early in the morning. I had just awoken and was on my way to the pool—" He gestured at the mother-of-pearl water to his left. "—When I heard the sound of hooves very nearby. When I went to the gate, I found a horse approaching—a Mare. She was a fine Beast; for you should know, cousins, that this was no dumb animal but a Talking Horse of Narnia."

"Naturally," Orion murmured.

The Hermit inclined his head. "As I say, she was a lovely Mare, but in a very bad way. She approached, not from the Northern lands, but from the South, across the desert. She was dusty and exhausted, and in great pain. I cared for her, gave her food and water and rest, and she told me her name was Hriha.

"I could see at once that she was soon to be a mother; indeed, I took her in and it was scarcely a day before she gave birth to her Foal. She seemed to know she had not much time; for she told me in a great hurry the things she felt I must know. She had been captured as a young Foal—too common a story it is!—and kept as a slave in Calormen. The foal she now carried herself, she told me, was the child of no Talking mate she had chosen, but of a dumb Calormene war-horse whose name she did not know nor wish to know. She had managed to escape, but the journey across the desert had left her more dead than alive, and she confessed that she feared for her unborn foal.

"The birth went hard for her. That poor, noble Horse had not enough strength left in her. When her foal was born, she could not even turn to see her; and so I cleaned the young one, and told the mother, 'my dear cousin, you have a daughter.' She had barely the strength to lift her head; but she found it, and smiled at the filly. I asked her what she wished to name the child, and she answered, 'Call her Vesta… for her color, and because after sore trials she has come home.' And her head fell, and she died without another word. Vesta is the Horse you see now; and she is the one whom Aslan wishes to accompany you."

Stunned silence followed his words. Orion was the first to find his voice. Dipping his head respectfully in the cherry-colored Horse's direction, he said, "Then you're a _Talking_ Beast. I beg your pardon, Ma'am. I had no-"

"Cousin," said the Hermit, infinitely gentle. "She is not a Talking Beast."

Orion blinked, fixing the Hermit with his intensely focused gaze. "What do you mean? You just said she… she's…" He gulped. "She's half dumb."

Now Canisp understood as well. "Her sire; she's not a Talking Horse? Is she even… intelligent?"

She could see instantly that she had made a huge mistake. The hermit did not shout, but his smile slipped away. "Yes," he said sternly. "She is as sentient as you or I. Her mind works the same way and on the same level; even without my art I would know this. But she cannot speak, and does not understand our tongue."

Coming to Canisp's rescue, Orion said, "Like trying to read ancient runes; you know they have meaning, but you can't understand them."

Inclining his head, the Hermit replied, "You understand her situation perfectly, cousin." Seeing Canisp's mortified expression, he said gently, "As do you now, my daughter." Canisp gave a grateful smile.

"So Aslan thinks we need a horse?" said Orion, extremely confused.

"No," murmured Canisp. "A Horse needs us." Orion cocked his head, and Canisp struggled to find the words to explain. She wasn't sure _how_ she knew—perhaps it was instinct, perhaps simple common sense—but it was difficult to imagine anyone who needed a change for the better, a shift in their universe…or any of the things Aslan had said were the domain of changelings…more than this poor young half-breed.

Luckily, she didn't have to explain. After a moment Orion's eyes widened slightly, and she saw the understanding in them. "Of course. I think I see…and anyway, who are we to question Aslan's designs?" he added with much more confidence. "Obviously we're going to help each other, or he wouldn't have told us to bring her with us."

The Hermit nodded. "Am I right, cousins, in assuming that you will be leaving as soon as possible?"

Canisp dipped her head. "If it's all the same to you."

The hermit smiled at her. "Naturally, my daughter. Before you leave, I will give you what assistance I can. Granted, it is not much, but I believe I can help you." He stood and walked into his house. A few moments later, he emerged holding a bundle of leather. He called to Vesta, and the young Mare trotted to his side, eyes bright with curiosity.

The Hermit placed the leather object on the ground, and Canisp recognized it. The design had been used by Centaurs for centuries to carry their belongings. They called them "saddlebags" for the sake of brevity, but they were really more like knapsacks that attached around the horse-chest and horse-stomach rather than the shoulders, allowing easy access to their belongings. The Hermit strapped the bag onto Vesta; she nickered and turned her head to inspect it, but didn't seem to mind. Then, reaching into the bag, the Hermit brought out a simple bridle. It was plain and unadorned, but the leather was incredibly soft and the bit smooth and lightweight. This, it seemed, Vesta _did_ mind, but after stepping on Canisp's paw to make a point, she settled down, though she still seemed a bit irritated.

"Is that really necessary?" Orion asked uneasily.

"For every day, no," the Hermit said, patting Vesta's neck and looking into her eyes, trying to reassure her without words. "But if you are forced to work with her in battle or other dangerous conditions, it may save _all_ of your lives." Vesta chewed grumpily on the bit, and he laughed and handed her a cube of sugar.

The saddlebag especially was the perfect gift, and Canisp said so. Wincing and cradling her right hand—the one Vesta had stomped on—she switched back to human form and groaned. It was easy to forget that whatever she happened to be wearing in one form would remain with that form. For the most part it simply meant that she didn't have the problem of transforming naked, which she had gathered made human-like creatures uncomfortable. It also meant that she could load one form with as much weight as she wanted, and not feel it in her other forms as long as it was worn and not carried. She had taken full advantage of this in her packing; if she had been forced to physically carry all of their supplies she doubted very much if she would be able to get airborne at all.

This, however, meant that one form—in this case, her human one—could easily become impossibly cumbersome, and it could prove deadly not to have the full range of her body available in a sudden skirmish. Being able to take off her awkwardly-positioned pack (the "worn" requirement was oddly picky and didn't seem to appreciate such loophole-finding; it was only thanks to Orion that she had discovered it at all) made all the difference in the world. "If I'd known Vesta would be with us," she said regretfully, "I'd have brought my armor."

It was a terrible loss; her Dwarven armor was still perfectly safe in the hidden armory of what had been the Resistance, and could have been invaluable, especially since they had no idea what dangers they might come up against. Still, all in all they were quite well off. Govinia, who would have helped them, had died in what looked like an accident less than five years before the end of the war—but her brother Dinaric was still very much alive, and now that the White Witch was defeated he had lost no time in publishing the 'treasonous' collections he'd been working on for years. He had given one of these papers to Canisp as a farewell gift; a good-sized scroll entitled _Changing Winds: A Study of Changelings and Their Effects on Narnia Through the Ages._ It was not, perhaps, the most practical of gifts; Canisp was not of a scholarly bent, and anyway most of what Dinaric knew about changelings he had learned from her to begin with. Still, it was reassuring to have a friend's words nearby, and to know that she had not been, nor would she be, forgotten.

Dinaric had not been the only old friend to seek her out and give her a parting gift, either. Little Tumnus (when Canisp had finally gotten the courage to speak to him) remembered her from the stories his mother had told him as a child. He sheepishly admitted thinking they had been only stories, but was pleased to meet her all the same. He had given her a set of Narnian pipes, which really _wasn't_ a practical gift; but it made Canisp happy to think that she could always play the old Narnian lullabies if things got tough.

Coeptis, the old rogue, had only recently been found in the aftermath of the final battle against the Witch. He was now a firm fixture at Cair Paravel, acting as advisor and intelligence-gatherer for the High King, and was pleased as punch not to have to abandon his old spy network; but he managed to find the time to bid Canisp farewell. His passion for disguise and clever subversions undiminished, the Fox's first gift to Canisp was a polished bronze flask, containing a juice that, when rubbed into the skin, would turn it dark brown, completely altering one's appearance. He had shrugged and given a mysterious smile when asked where he'd found it, saying simply that it might come in handy.

"But more to the point," he added slyly. "I heard your claws had been cut. I took it to the High King himself, no need to thank me…"

"Coeptis!"

The Fox had laughed, bushy tail giving a careless swish, but the moment of levity passed quickly.

"Take it," he'd said softly.

And she had—a new Dwarf-made hunting knife on her hip, to make up for the dagger she had lost that terrible night on the ice. Her new weapon was longer than the dagger but felt more natural in her hand, and it had the same ceremonial carvings on the guard and pommel, though the grip was wrapped in soft white leather instead of left bare. The only obvious difference was that instead of a ruby a pale blue moonstone was set in the hilt, and the blade was crowned with an oak-leaf carving instead of the traditional spray of holly. It was a beautiful, deadly weapon, something she could never have found on her own, and she hadn't known how to even begin thanking Coeptis for it.

"Do good with it, Canisp," he had muttered, looking sadly up at her from under thick black lashes.

Neither of them had to say it._ I know. I loved her too._

His gift to her, then, was more than a knife. It was a symbol of everything she had lost, everything worth fighting for; a symbol of Narnia to take into the worlds. Combined with her ever-faithful quiver and the new bow on her back, with Orion perched on her shoulder and the strange half-breed Vesta at her side, Canisp finally felt like the warrior she had once been.

She felt ready, finally, to meet what was ahead.

**A/N:** Let it never be said that I forget my awesome characters.


	4. Outset

**Chapter 4—Outset**

That, of course, was easier said than done.

The Hermit clearly had experience in readying others for hard travels. He had scanned their saddlebags and Canisp's clumsy pack, clucked his tongue and proceeded to organize their supplies and provide little things they hadn't thought of. Accustomed as they were to eternal winter, firestarting supplies had dominated their plans; but they had grown too used to the presence of snow, and had to be reminded of the necessity of waterskins.

"Nor," the Hermit pointed out, "Will it always be possible or safe to live exclusively in the form of a Wolf." As such, he had provided Canisp with a few changes of clothes and, firmly, a packet of what rations he could spare; they could not always, he said, rely on hunting. After seeing Orion struggle to keep his balance on Canisp's wrist and shoulder without hurting her, he had also found a thin wooden rod and wound a strip of fabric around it, fixing it to the back of Vesta's bridle—a travelling perch.

Once they had tucked a few more pieces of goat cheese into the saddlebags, given the Hermit their heartfelt thanks, and promised to take good care of Vesta, Canisp and Orion suddenly realized they had absolutely no idea how to proceed

After an extremely awkward pause, Canisp gave a short, rueful laugh. "I suppose we just assumed that our path would be clear once we got here," she admitted. "We expected some sort of sign."

The Hermit seemed unperturbed. "Fear not, my daughter," he said calmly. "Aslan will help you, in his own time."

"I don't doubt it," Orion said. "The only problem is, when _is_ his time?"

"All times are my time," announced a golden voice. All four heads turned towards the great Lion perched atop the ivy-covered eastern wall.

Aslan dropped soundlessly to the ground, his mighty paws spreading on the emerald grass. Orion dipped his head respectfully, and the Hermit, seemed completely unsurprised by the presence of Aslan in his back garden, swept into an easy bow. Canisp was in human form holding Vesta's reins, and was therefore at somewhat of a disadvantage. Still, she managed a respectful, if slightly clumsy, bow.

Aslan addressed Canisp first, saying simply, "Trust, dear heart. You have the courage of a lioness, but in the end faith alone will save you. Remember this."

Turning to Orion, he said, "It is your place to see, as much as it is a Horse's to run and a Sparrow's to sing. From the sky, you can tell easily where your path will lead. Few others have this chance. You must wait for them to discover their own paths."

Aslan then faced Vesta. He said nothing to the Mare, but opened his mouth and breathed on her, ruffling her silky black mane. The horse blinked, flicked her tail…

…and gave a gentle nicker.

Canisp's disappointment must have shown on her face, because Aslan turned his mournful eyes to her. "Speak your mind, dear one."

Choosing her words carefully, Canisp asked, "Aslan… can't you help her? You gave beasts the power of speech once…"

Aslan's eyes were sad. "My dear child," he said. "All things must work according to their purpose."

Canisp lowered her eyes and gave a tiny nod.

"Now!" Aslan's tail lashed his flanks. "Are you ready?"

Canisp looked at Orion, who nodded.

"Yes," she answered. "Tell us what to do."

Aslan gave a proud lion-smile. "As you must," he said, and the breath of his whisper picked up into a warm, sweet breeze, swirling around the trio. Then the breeze became a wild, exciting wind like that which drives a sailboat on a summer's day, and the very air itself began glowing with a soft golden light, picking up speed until it became a gale and then the light began to dim, fading gradually and taking the wind with it.

Canisp blinked and looked around. They were in a wood—but such a place! It was still and silent, but yet somehow still full of Life; she could _feel_ the leaves being warmed by the sun, the roots drawing water from the numerous symmetrical pools scattered among the tees. And yet the only sounds were their own breathing… and… something else…

Orion, with his superior eyesight, was the first to see it. "Is that… a guinea pig?"

It was. A fat brown guinea pig was nosing about not a stone's throw away, nestled in the drinking roots of a tree.

There was a long pause.

"Can I eat it?" asked Orion.

"No."

They stood staring at it for some time, until Vesta, with a snort of annoyance, tugged the reins out of Canisp's lax grip and trotted over to the little animal. It looked faintly surprised when she began snuffling at it, but not scared; it touched noses with the Horse and began sniffing back, looking her over with equal interest. Canisp shook herself and switched back to her wolf, trotted up to Vesta and gently pushed her back so that she could get a good look at the creature. It looked and smelled completely ordinary, except for some pieces of a strange sticky material in its fur. She pulled these off carefully. The chubby little creature, completely unruffled by a large wolf nosing it about, paused its nibbling to give a contented purr.

"Canisp!"

Orion's call nearly made Canisp jump out of her skin after the silence of the wood. After taking a moment to restart her heart, she walked over to his tree. "What is it?" she asked.

Orion indicated one of the pools with his beak. "Look."

The rich red soil in front of the pool was exposed, dug up in a thick strip that showed up well against the bright grass. It was clearly a marker of some kind. "What do you think it means?" Canisp murmured. Orion shook his head, nonplussed. Even Vesta looked confused.

Suddenly Canisp felt something bumping against her hind foot. Looking down, she saw the guinea pig, nudging her insistently. "What are _you_ doing?" she muttered.

"Now can I eat it?"

"_No_. It wants me to do something." The guinea pig, satisfied that they were paying attention, scurried over to the place where they had arrived, grabbed something in its mouth, and began doggedly dragging it towards the three Narnians.

Meeting the little creature halfway, Canisp sniffed at the object. It was a key; nondescript enough, really. It was roughly two and a half inches long, rather old-fashioned. She placed her paw over it curiously, and it was cool to the touch. The only unusual thing about it was that it was pure white, and felt like it was made of stone rather than metal.

Suddenly, Vesta gave a shrill whinny and half reared as Canisp and Orion gave identical cries of shock. As Canisp touched the key it began to change, twisting in on itself and curling around Canisp's finger to form a ring.

_Finger_, and yet it was a paw at the same time; somehow, for the barest shadow of an instant she was in both her forms; for the briefest possible moment in time she _had_ no form. She was simply herself, all of her, with no thought for how or why—

Then Canisp gave another cry; as the two ends of the ring connected, it flashed with a blinding white light. In that instant Canisp felt it burn simultaneously with scorching fire and biting ice. Her consciousness seemed to explode. She was everywhere and everything. A million and more nerve endings connected her to the trees and the stars and the very particles of the air, not only in this wood but in Narnia and thousands of worlds besides. She was the sun and the rain, black and white and everything in between, and a voice older than time itself was telling her something, but it didn't use words and it wasn't a voice. Still, in that moment between heartbeats, she understood.

_This is what you are._

And then it was over. Canisp collapsed soundlessly, and with some echo of that moment of omnipotence she noticed that the place where she stood was more vibrant, more alive, than any other part of the wood.

* * *

A feathery touch on her face woke her. Orion's eyes were frantically searching hers for any sign of recognition. "Canisp?" he said. "Canisp, are you all right? What happened?"

"Ori," she breathed, "I know what we have to do."

* * *

It wasn't instinct.

Canisp knew her instinct very well, thank you, and this wasn't it. It wasn't vague, indefinable, or shadowy. It wasn't an automatic reaction or a powerful, unexplained compulsion. It was a stray tendril of that moment of awe-inspiring power, a call, a doorway… Canisp didn't quite know how to describe it, but she had a powerful physical need to follow the strand of power, which led to a pool about one hundred feet behind her and to the left. However, she knew that to just leap after it would be foolish in the extreme. They were most likely about to be dropped into another war, another resistance, and they had best be ready.

Canisp strung her bow and slung it over her shoulder, ready if she needed it. After discussing it at length with the Hermit, she had decided that a human form would be safest for the entry into a new world, however uncomfortable it made her.

Orion dropped onto his cloth perch, wings half-spread in case he was needed for an aerial attack. Vesta, sensing the seriousness of the situation, stood perfectly still. Pulling herself with some difficulty and a great deal of awkwardness onto the mare's back, Canisp took a moment to rest a hand on Orion's head, taking strength from his silent courage.

"All right," she said finally. "Let's go." Touching her heels lightly to Vesta's sides, she communicated the same message.

Before Vesta could so much as lift a foot, however, another extraordinary phenomenon occurred. The minute Canisp made the decision to follow the tendril, the world around them seemed to warp. There was a curious sensation of being drawn forward, then of standing in two places at once; and then there was another flash of brilliant light, and the trio found themselves standing in the strangest forest they had ever seen, blinking rapidly as they took in their surroundings.

**A/N:** Aslan is the only character to appear in every single Narnia book. As such, it is an integral part of the universe and I can assure you that he will be present in every Canisp book as well.


	5. Odyssey

**A/N:** Just so nobody hurts their brain trying to figure out what universe this is a shoutout to: it's not. To any universe, I mean. It's definitely just a crazy place that exists in my head-though if you like it, feel free to take the idea and run with it. And, hey, drop me a link if you do!

**Chapter 5-Odyssey**

It was like no forest Canisp had ever seen. The grass underfoot was an impossibly bright green, the blades were thinner than thread, and the silvery soil beneath was clearly visible. The trees all seemed young, none more than seven inches in diameter, and they too had an almost silvery sheen. The small, round leaves were a very pale ice-blue, almost white. It was as silent as the wood they had just left, but seemed less peaceful, as if the entire forest was holding its breath.

There was a flicker of movement ahead of the group. Canisp tensed and bared her teeth, ready to fight, but as soon as the cause of the disturbance emerged from the shallow valley she realized it would be futile.

Canisp's first thought was: _dragon._ But when she took a closer look at the creature, she realized she had no name for it.

It looked uncommonly like a jaguar, except for the fact that it was three times Vesta's size and covered in scales instead of fur; delicate, shimmering, snakelike scales in breathtaking shades of turquoise and periwinkle. Its gracefully arched claws held the subtle glow of moonstone and jasper. Indeed, the creature would have been the most beautiful thing Canisp had ever seen had it not looked so utterly desolate. It was painfully thin, ribs showing clearly on its sides. Her deep sapphire eyes—Canisp had to assume it was female, as it lacked any distinguishing male organs—were dull and hopeless, as if she knew that no matter where she went, she would never find comfort. She didn't even seem to notice the three Narnians, despite the stark contrast of Vesta's cherry-red hide to the bluish landscape.

Then Canisp saw something that twisted her heart. Stumbling along behind the draguar were three kittens the size of cougars. They were lighter in color than their mother, more silver than blue, but seemed just as despondent, if not quite as starved. Clearly the mother was keeping them fed at her own expense.

Suddenly, the adult noticed the trio. Freezing, she bared ivory teeth as long as daggers and hissed, raising a startlingly bright orange sail on her back. Venom dripped from the ends of the needle-sharp fangs. Her exhausted kittens mewed and scrambled under her for protection, and the smallest of the bunch placed itself bravely in front of its siblings and hissed, raising his own dark red sail.

Canisp had no idea what to do. The overwhelming power that had led them here seemed to have gone dormant; it gave her no further instruction, leading her to seriously question the benefits of a bauble that would drag her into such a situation and not tell her how to get out of it. She knew that if this animal charged them, they were dead. It wasn't so much that she would be unable to kill it—its scales looked no more difficult to pierce than those of snakes—but she doubted she could bring herself to do so. One look at the creatures, and she wanted nothing more than to help them somehow.

But the mother was not inviting assistance. Her tense posture and the flamboyant sail sent a very clear message; _I don't know who or what you are, but you're strange and if you take one step toward my children I will tear you to ribbons_.

Canisp kept her eyes fixed on a point just above the draguar's head in an attempt to send her own message, hopefully something that would be interpreted as _we mean you no harm._

The sun, visibly brighter than the Narnian sun though no hotter, had noticeably changed position when Vesta seemed to tire of their standoff. She dropped her head (sending Orion, who dared not take off for fear of startling the draguars, tumbling to the ground) and sniffed suspiciously at the grass. Seemingly finding it to her liking, she lipped at the thin blades and began to graze.

The draguar mother hissed again and raised her sail higher, but when she realized that the movement, while sudden, had not been threatening, she lowered it slowly.

Somehow, the simple act of moving had broken the ice. The kittens curled up under their mother, and their wide-eyed observation was more curious than fearful. Canisp, moving at a snail's pace, managed to slip off Vesta's back without causing the family undue alarm, but the sun had begun dropping in earnest by the time she felt it safe to open Vesta's saddlebags, dig out a paper-wrapped package of venison which was supposed to be her and Orion's rations for the next two weeks and give it an easy underhanded toss toward the mother.

* * *

A log fell in the dying fire, jarring Canisp out of her memories. She smiled and stroked Vesta's nose. That afternoon would live on in her memories forever. The strangely bright, lavender-tinged moon had risen fully by the time the female jaguar had crept, single step by single step, toward the meat. No sooner had her jaws closed around it than she was gone, back to her kittens. The sustenance had done her good, and they had Vesta, really, to thank for the way things had turned out. Canisp thought that maybe because Vesta was half-animal, her instincts were more powerful. Orion thought that it was just Vesta; she was sensitive.

Whatever it was, Vesta had proven her worth time and time again. She was fleet and steady, patient in standing, didn't startle easily. Being unable to use language barely hindered her in making her opinions known. She was confident and eager, with a vivid personality and a dry sense of humor; at times she reminded Canisp of Jenga. Vesta was loyal, outgoing, and, in a word, Narnian.

Sighing, Canisp glanced up at the moon, surprised to see how noticeably it had moved. Remembering her promise to Orion, she walked over to his branch and poked his chest. "Ori!" she hissed. "Ori, wake up."

His eyes blazed open. "What's wrong?" he said in an intense whisper, gaze flickering through the trees.

"Nothing," Canisp murmured. "I promised I'd wake you in an hour, remember?"

Orion blinked. "I didn't think you'd do it," he said slowly.

"You can go back to sleep if you like," Canisp told him. "It's all right."

Orion gave one of the strange eagle smiles that seemed to brighten everything about him. "No," he said. "I'm glad. I couldn't be happier."

Both sets of golden eyes met, and Canisp realized that of all the times she had taken over Orion's watch, promising to wake him, this was the first time she had kept her word.

"Is it time to go?" Orion asked, ending the moment.

Glancing down at the ring on her right hand, Canisp cleared her throat. "Yes."

While the dizzying moment of omniscience had never repeated—and, indeed, never would—there were times when one of the 'threads' would reappear, calling Canisp to another world. After several discussions, Canisp and Orion had decided that most likely these summonses were some of the threads Canisp had sensed, those connected to some injustice, and they were being 'plucked' one by one, once the previous strand had been set to rights.

They quickly gathered their few belongings and prepared to leave. As usual, as soon as Canisp made the decision to be off, there was a now-familiar sensation of being drawn forward without moving, and they found themselves back in the Wood Between Worlds.

"Hello," Canisp said quietly to the guinea pig, which she had determined was most likely some sort of guardian of the wood.

"Where to?" asked Orion, who had finally given up on being allowed to eat it.

Canisp took a moment to get her bearings; the Wood was distractingly symmetrical. "Here," she finally said, pointing to the pool just in front of them. She prepared to form a passage, and the world began warping around them, but Orion suddenly said, "Wait!"

Swaying and badly disoriented, Canisp squinted at the Eagle. "What's wrong?" she asked.

Orion fluttered up to a branch. "That strip of soil," he muttered to himself. "If that's _there,_ then…" He turned to Canisp and said wonderingly, "That pool there, the one we're entering…that's the pool that leads back home."

Canisp covered her mouth. "Oh, Aslan," she breathed. "You're right. Ori, you're brilliant!" Then her eyes, which had been shining with happiness, turned uneasy. Being called back to Narnia… it had to be because something was wrong. And the last time something had been wrong with Narnia it had been named Jadis…

Orion's eyes softened. "Chapter Three of _Changing Winds," _he said gently. "'_While a changeling is called into physical form to bring about a great change, to right a terrible wrong, their later effects are far more subtle. My own experiences with a close changeling friend suggest that this is only fitting, for the sacrifices involved in bringing about their birth-goal are tremendous, and no sentient creature, indeed no creature at all, should have to endure them more than once,' _and so on and so forth. Dinaric knows what he's talking about, Canisp. I don't think we're up against another White Witch._" _

Canisp gave him a grateful smile. "You're right," she said. "And someday I'll read it too. But for now..."

Orion laughed and dropped onto his perch. "Let's go save the world!" he exclaimed cheerfully.

Canisp focused her mind on the changeling ring and the world distorted around them, settling into a chaotic swirl of color and sound. Vesta snorted and tossed her head in confusion, and Canisp patted her neck reassuringly. While the scene was tumultuous, it wasn't dangerous.

They were in a narrow, empty alleyway, looking out at a crowded market square. Goats and oxen struggled to make headway through the throngs. Bells rang. Small children wove through the crowd like fish through water. A thin man tossed flaming sticks in the air. Brightly-colored ribbons fluttered in the breeze. Street vendors vied for customers. ("Fruit! Fresh fruit! Apples and oranges straight from the barbarian North! " "No finer cuts of meat in all the Tisroc's lands, may he live for ever!") And then, because someone had apparently decided that the sheer chaos wasn't quite chaotic enough for their liking, a crier began calling, "Way! Way! Way for the Seventh Vizier!" and all the people began pressing back.

Canisp hastily dismounted, and the trio scuttled backwards until they could turn around. Thankfully, the shoppers had been too busy focusing on the market to notice the young woman lurking in the shadows, bareback astride a finely-bred mare with an eagle perched on the bridle. Canisp pushed Vesta around a corner and looked at Orion.

He had been right; this was the pool for their home world. But this wasn't Narnia. This was…

"_Calormen?"_ she said.

Orion, who had always had a gift for words, summed up the situation.

"You have _got _to be kidding me_."_

__**A/N:** Calormen is a really interesting setting. I love working with Tashbaan.


	6. Homecoming

**Chapter 6-Homecoming**

"Thank Aslan for Coeptis," Canisp sighed, rummaging through Vesta's saddlebags. Finally, she found the object of her search: a brass flask with a stylized sun emblazoned on both sides. She carefully poured the dye onto her left arm and began rubbing it in, amazed at how well it worked. She did the same for her other arm, face, and neck while Orion looked her over critically.

"Well," he said, "No one would guess that it's not your natural skin color, but there's not a Calormene in the world who dresses like that."

Canisp grimaced. "I know," she said. "But it's all I…hold on." She opened the other saddlebag. "I'd all but forgotten…" Holding up a burnt orange, floor-length robe the Hermit had given her, she said, "It's not perfect, but it's better."

"You need to get a dress or something," Orion muttered. "We would fit in so much better."

"I hate to be the bearer of bad news," said Canisp drily, "but we don't fit in anywhere. Go keep watch. I need to change."

* * *

Once Canisp had exchanged her tunic and pants for the lightweight robe, her transformation continued. The intricately carved quiver and ceremonial Narnian hunting knife were wrapped in a blanket and tied into a pack on Vesta's back, though Canisp slid a single arrow up her sleeve in case of an emergency. There was no way, unfortunately, to disguise her bow; and, since Calormene women went unarmed, it had to be hidden. In the end she sent it up to the eaves of a pointed roof, where Orion managed to fasten it by way of clever beak-work.

"It's the best we can do," he muttered. Canisp was not at all happy to be without any conventional weapons, and Orion could tell. Dropping down from the roof, he said confidently, "You'll blend in fine. Just try not to talk too much; your style of speech will give you away. But you look Calormene enough to avoid any second glances."

"I won't be able to talk to you," Canisp fretted.

"We didn't spend almost a year perfecting our signals for nothing."

Canisp smiled weakly. "You're right. You remember them?"

Orion blinked twice.

"Let's go, then."

* * *

Following the cacophony of ringing bells, shouts and clattering hooves, Canisp, Orion and Vesta found their way back to the marketplace, emerging in a different section of the square. Trying to look like they knew exactly what was going on, they picked their way carefully around the edges of a crowd of Tarkaans and other well-to-do Calormenes, arrayed before a wooden stage. A flamboyantly dressed auctioneer was calling out lots and prices; they tried to get past as quickly as possible without drawing undo attention, but it was slow going and eventually they reached the unspoken agreement to simply stay and watch. "Nineteen crescents! Thank you, sir! Nineteen crescents for Lot Eight. Can I have an advance on nineteen? Do I have twenty? Nineteen going once…twice…_sold_ to the gentleman in the back, and it's a bargain, sir, a bargain!"

A bearded man in the back of the crowd gave a forced laugh. He looked slightly displeased, as if he'd just spent more money than he intended on some sort of necessity. His clothes were less rich than those of most of the men in the crowd; Canisp imagined that he was likely a servant of some sort, sent to a weekly or monthly auction on behalf of a master who couldn't be troubled to come in person.

Canisp met Orion's curious look, wondering what it was the man had won. There were two large brass vases on either side of the stage, and the backdrop was decorated with a medley of brightly-colored rugs; one, she thought, was particularly lovely, a pattern of golden stags on a blue field...

A moment later, however, it became horrifyingly clear. The bearded man strode up to the platform, paid the auctioneer, and took the rope handed him with ill grace. The bare-chested man on the stage, whom she had assumed was an assistant or a guard, turned slightly, and Canisp saw that the rope was tied around his wrists.

Orion hissed furiously. "Filthy _carrion-eaters!_"

"_Quiet!"_ Canisp whispered frantically, glancing around to make sure no one had noticed. Inside, however, she was cheering his words. She had known, of course, that Calormen was a slave country; but seeing it like this, in person, was _different_. "Let's…"

She froze. The sight of the next slave up for auction had stopped the words in her throat; a young, pretty girl, about fourteen or fifteen, with dark Calormene skin and shoulder-length black hair, but that wasn't what caught Canisp's attention.

It was her eyes. They held a hopeless, desperate look, concealed behind a thin mask of courage, that Canisp knew only too well. She didn't fight as she was brought up to the block, but neither was she cooperating. She seemed to look through the auctioneer, eyes locked sightlessly at a point above the crowd. It was the look she had seen in the Vereor's victims—an innocent, a fighter with no way to fight, facing a life worse than death.

"Four crescents! For the delight of my eyes, good sir! Six! Six crescents bid for Lot Nine."

"Eight!"

"Eight! Eight is bid for Lot Nine…"

Canisp's eyes narrowed. The raise had come from a cruel-faced Tarkaan on Vesta's right side. In that moment, three things occurred to Canisp.

She didn't like the way the Tarkaan was looking at the girl. She didn't like it at all.

He was standing very close to Vesta.

And a heavy money bag was tied to his belt by a simple silk rope.

With some effort, Canisp emptied her face of all emotion. Switching Vesta's reins to her left hand, she let her right hand dangle carelessly beside her leg. She flexed her fingers, stretching and wiggling them. It was a casual movement that nobody would ever notice…unless they were on the lookout for a signal.

Orion was sitting on his perch, looking for all the world like a tame hunting falcon. They had even rigged fake jesses for him; two leather loops around his ankles, which were attached to the perch by a simple rope. The lead appeared to keep him from flying away, but in reality the loops were designed to be loose enough to let him slip out of them with next to no effort.

When Canisp flexed her hand, the movement drew Orion's attention, his hunter's eyes focusing on it automatically. Once Canisp knew she had his attention, she tucked in her thumb and pinkie, tapping her three middle fingers absently on her leg; a seemingly unconscious movement, but really a prearranged signal. _We need a distraction._

After a short pause, Orion blinked twice; he understood and was ready.

Canisp tucked in her ring finger. _On my mark._

Her eyes were on the girl, but Canisp was really focusing on the cruel-faced Tarkaan. She could tell that the sale was winding down…when he upped the bid…

"Thirteen is bid for Lot Nine…"

_Raise the bid,_ Canisp thought desperately. _You want her…please…it has to be now…_But her plan seemed to be failing. Thirteen crescents…a slave girl couldn't be worth much more.

A wave of relief washed over Canisp when the cruel-faced Tarkaan seemed to draw the same conclusion. She could tell by his smirk; he was going to make one high bid, one that was more than the girl was worth, to end the sale.

"Thirteen going once…"

The Tarkaan's lip twisted. "Twe-" he began.

Canisp flicked her two fingers into her fist, and all hell broke loose.

Orion fell backwards off his perch and dug his lethal talons into Vesta's shoulder. This brought the intended reaction: she reared violently, lashing out with her front hooves, and Canisp sprang into action. While everyone else in the vicinity was scrambling away from the panicking horse, Canisp dropped to the ground and rolled under her, pulling the arrow from her sleeve as she did so. Coming up on one knee, she cut the rope of the oblivious Tarkaan's money pouch and stood up facing Vesta, pretending to cringe away while hastily retying the bag onto the sash of her robe.

"Whoa!" she called, grabbing Vesta's bridle. "Easy. Everything's all right." Meeting the Horse's eyes, she gave a small apologetic grimace. Vesta snorted irately and stomped on Canisp's foot. The changeling winced, and couldn't help feeling she deserved it. But she could feel guilty later. Right now she had a plan to implement. Twisting around to face the auctioneer, she gasped breathlessly, "Twenty!"

If the auctioneer was surprised, he didn't show it. "Twenty is bid for Lot Nine! Can I have an advance on twenty? Twenty going once…twice…sold to the young…Tarkheena!"

Orion laughed softly at the slight hesitation as to what to call her. Letting Vesta's reins fall, Canisp walked to the stage and counted out twenty crescents. The auctioneer handed her the girl's rope, and a sick feeling emerged in Canisp's stomach as she realized what she had done.

_I just bought a slave._

Fingers shaking slightly, she wasted no time in freeing the girl's hands. "I mean you no harm," she said quietly. "Let's get away from here and then we'll talk."

The girl seemed confused, dipping her head and murmuring conventionally, "As you wish, O my mistress." Orion gave a disgusted hiss, but the girl didn't hear him.

Once they had left some of the hustle and bustle of the marketplace behind, Canisp was visibly more relaxed. "I'm sorry," she said, turning to the silent girl, trying to be as reassuring as possible. She tried to remember Govinia's best bedside manner. "I didn't mean to scare you. But now that we have some time to ourselves, how about we get to know each other?"

The girl's expression didn't change. "O my mistress," she said emotionlessly, "The will of my masters is the delight of my eyes."

Canisp didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "First things first…" She paused. "What's your name?"

The girl gave a strange curtsy, and responded, "Ilona, my mistress."

Canisp twitched slightly. "I'm not your mistress. I bought you to save you; your Tarkaan friend seemed a bit too eager to meet you, if you understand me. From now on, you're free; though you're welcome to stay with us, if you like. We'll keep you safe."

Ilona looked at Canisp like she was speaking a different language. "I…I don't…?"

Canisp looked at her, concerned. "Ilona? Do you want to sit down for a minute…?"

But Calormene slaves are a resilient bunch. Ilona was already rallying, and she gave a slight smile. "I am fine, my mistress…and I would like nothing more than to stay with you. I have nowhere to go, you see. If you will suffer to have me, I would serve you."

"I don't need a servant," Canisp said automatically. Seeing the flash of hurt and embarrassment in Ilona's eyes, she said hastily, "but you're more than welcome to join us as a friend."

Ilona shifted, looking distinctly uncomfortable. "I…if you wish it, my mistress…"

Orion cleared his throat. Canisp glanced over at him, and he frowned pointedly. Looking back at the girl, Canisp said slowly, "Ilona… you're welcome as yourself. However you want to be. I hope you'll see me as a friend, but if you're more comfortable as a servant, that's who you can be." Unable to stop herself from adding the qualifier, she finished, "until you're more comfortable."

Ilona ducked her head again, visibly relieved. "I would like nothing better, mistress."

Orion cleared his throat again, cocking his head and extending his left wing slightly. Canisp flexed her hand again, keeping her thumb tucked in. _Wait._

To Ilona, who hadn't noticed this silent exchange, Canisp said, laughing, "Where are my manners? Ilona, this is Orion and Vesta. They created that little distraction earlier that let us grab this." She gestured vaguely at the money bag, which still held a respectable sum.

"I noticed," Ilona said shyly. "I was afraid he would, too." Tentatively, as if testing some sort of limit, she added, "I'm glad he didn't."

"So are we," Canisp replied, mildly surprised. Trust and confidence tended, in her experience, to be much harder to earn.

Ilona gave the hint of a smile and swept into a deep curtsy, turning to Vesta. "To make your acquaintance is to see the sun for the first time," she said in a jokingly formal manner.

Canisp met Orion's eyes and flicked her gaze down to her closed fist.

Smirking slightly, Orion dipped his regal head and said in an amused voice, "Pleasure's all mine."

Ilona leapt back in shock. Canisp had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing, and she suspected Orion was having similar difficulties. Even Vesta gave an amused snort.

Ilona looked pleadingly to Canisp, who took pity on her. "Are you hungry?"

The poor overwhelmed Calormene girl blinked and nodded mutely.

"Let's buy some sweet buns," Canisp said. (Calormene sweet buns are almost as famous as their luxurious baths.) "Then we'll talk."

* * *

Ilona took their story in stride.

It helped that they only told her part of it. In an effort not to completely overwhelm her, they told Ilona only that they were three Narnians, travelling between the worlds and trying to bring positive changes; it was, as Orion's stern look said, quite enough to lay on the girl's shoulders for one day. This talk of other worlds confused Ilona, who had never had the privilege, as she called it, of any sort of education—not even the tales and history that, to a Narnian, were as much the right of all as the air they breathed. However, with Orion's explanations and using a thin stick to illustrate some points in the dust, they finally managed to explain everything they knew themselves about their inter-world mission. They left out Canisp's shapeshifting abilities (which they didn't think Ilona was quite ready for) and the fact that, technically, Canisp and Orion were both dead, having been turned into statues for many years. This they _knew_ Ilona wasn't ready for.

The Narnians were relieved when they had crossed the long bridge connecting Tashbaan to the shore, and gotten off the main road. By unspoken agreement, they didn't stop until the city had disappeared behind them. There were still people on the roads, but most of them were simply on their way home; Ilona informed the Narnians that there were any number of small fishing villages along the coast. The dusty trails, even with the occasional traveler, were less than picturesque, but once they had left the gilded summer homes and shipping wharfs behind they found themselves on an empty stretch of white sand, the crystal-clear water of the ocean lapping at their feet. With Ilona dutifully removing Vesta's tack, Canisp went down to the water and did her best to scrub the brown dye out of her skin.

She glanced up and saw Vesta giving her a calculating look.

"Don't even think about it," she warned her.

Giving a wicked snort, Vesta charged diagonally into the surf, throwing up a wall of water that soaked Canisp to the bone. Orion, who was hopping about just inside the waterline, using his wings to toss water over himself, laughed out loud, and Canisp retaliated by kicking water into his face. Before long, the whole thing had escalated into a fully-fledged water war. Ilona ended up laughing so hard that she toppled straight into a foamy breaker, which of course made her a participant in the fight. By the time the sun began to set, all four were dripping wet and happier than they had been in a very long time.

* * *

As evening began to come in earnest, Ilona built up a fire and Canisp prepared the two rodents that Orion had caught them. She didn't know exactly what they were, but Ilona called them desert hare and assured them they were edible. While they waited for these to cook, the four said very little, pleasantly exhausted.

Orion gave a soft chuckle.

"What's so funny?" Canisp asked him.

"Look at us," he said. "A Talking Eagle, a half-breed horse, a changeling, and a Calormene ex-slave girl. Now all we have to do is walk into a tavern."

Canisp smiled tiredly, turning the desert rabbit on its makeshift spit. "And I thought my family was an eclectic group."

Ilona frowned. "…Changeling?"

Canisp froze. Orion's eyes widened as he realized his slip.

Canisp sat up straighter. "That's me," she said, fighting to keep her voice even. "You're a human—at least, I assume you are. Orion's an Eagle. I'm a changeling."

Ilona nodded slightly, murmuring something Canisp didn't quite catch, though she thought it was something to do with eyes. "What are you?" she asked softly, looking at Canisp with unexpected wonder in her eyes.

Canisp took a deep breath. "I'll show you," she said seriously. "But I need you to promise not to run. You'll be killed if you go out alone at night. I promise, I mean you no harm."

Ilona nodded. "I won't be afraid," she breathed, and Canisp believed her. The girl was trembling…but somehow Canisp knew it wasn't out of fear.

She brushed sand off her sleeve was making to stand up when a deep voice from behind her sneered, "What _have_ we 'ere?"

**A/N:** Okay, this is just me-but for some reason whenever an auction scene is opened with "(s)he couldn't tell what was for sale" I'm just like _come on,_ everyone knows what that means, there is _no_ shock value, no big reveal, and all of your readers are screaming "IT'S A GODDAMN SLAVE AUCTION WE GET IT". So I tried to avoid that as much as possible. I know it was still pretty obvious (I wasn't exactly trying to be subtle, we all know Calormen is a slave country) but I hope I didn't make you roll your eyes too hard.


	7. Revelations

**Chapter 7-Revelations**

Canisp's instincts jolted into hyper-awareness.

Her immediate impulse was to whirl around and leap for the man's throat. The urge was powerful and all but overwhelming, and it was with some difficulty that Canisp managed to control it. When she glanced over her shoulder, she saw she was right to have refrained; there were four burly men there, all of them armed.

Placing a reassuring hand on Ilona's shoulder, Canisp moved her right hand to her knee with her thumb tucked in, four fingers extended. _Wait._ When she met Orion's gaze, he looked unconvinced, but blinked and flapped his wings twice. _I understand,_ the double blink said. The two flaps meant, _but I don't have to like it._

Canisp blinked, acknowledging his concerns. "Evening, gentlemen," she said evenly, continuing to turn their first hare. "How can I help you?"

The four men laughed, rough laughter that seemed distinctly un-Calormene. "So, as I were sayin'," the first man drawled, "Whad'you lot make of this?"

_Perfect_, Canisp thought with vague irritation. _They're from the Lone Islands. _Canisp couldn't help but be mildly offended at the idea of thugs from _Narnian_ lands.

"Well, Don," said one of the men, "If'n I was guessing, I'd say I wonder what these here two runaway slaves was doing wif their master's 'unting falcon. The 'orse I understand, but what's wif the bird, girlies?"

Canisp sighed, removing the first rodent from the spit and replacing it with the second. "I'm afraid you've made a fairly serious mistake," she began. Only a fool could miss the warning tone; it flew over the men's heads. "My friend and I are free Narnians. The horse is mine, as is the eagle."

The fourth man said, a trifle uneasily, "Hey, Don…I fink she's tellin' the truth. I mean…lookit 'er. She's Narnian."

Canisp inclined her head graciously, with a calm she didn't feel. "As I said. Ilona, eat something." Despite her obvious tension, Ilona took up a leg and started eating. For a moment, Canisp's heart warmed; she doubted whether the poor girl had ever had a proper meal. But the leader Don's next words dispelled the brief sense of happiness.

"Yeah," he growled at the man who had spoken. "She's Narnian, prolly. And? There's Tarkaans plenty what'll pay good money for 'er. Yer 'ead full of straw, Kens? There's _gold_ to be 'ad in Northerners. Nunna these three-crescent dregs. 's no wonder _you_ work for _me_ an' not th'other way 'round…"

"Slavers, ma'am," Ilona whispered to Canisp. Her voice shook. The men heard her, and seemed to find her fear amusing.

"Smart one, in't she?" guffawed the man called Kens.

"Pretty, too," a third man leered.

Canisp gave a low, distinctly lupine warning snarl, but this time the men didn't hear.

"Now," said Don. "I dunno what a little Narnia girl's doin' so far away ferm home, but you're valuable, you is, so don't make no trouble an' no trouble'll come to you, see?"

Canisp's face twitched. In a different form, her ears would be folded back, tucked cleanly out of the way. Her shoulders, rather than being defensively hunched like Ilona's, were low and loose as the part of herself she was truest to braced its paws and prepared for the lunge.

The hunt had begun; the only question now was who would end up as prey.

Don turned to Kens and said carelessly, "Get th' other one; might make a few crescents off 'er." Kens nodded and grabbed Ilona, dragging her roughly to her feet and twisting her arm behind her back.

Canisp snapped.

"Don't touch her, you _dogs_," she hissed, leaping to her feet. The words ground against each other in her throat.

Without a word, Don raised one meaty hand and dealt a stunning blow to her left temple that knocked her off her feet. Filing this away as another reason human forms were hopeless, the changeling gathered herself on the ground. No doubt it appeared pitiful, a defensive ball.

She was a wounded animal, and she was curling to strike.

Not noticing the feral look in his would-be victim's eyes, Don continued in a conversational drawl. "Now, then, princess, let's talk nice. You jus' remember who makes th' rules 'ere, an'…" He faltered, and it was easy to see why.

Canisp was _growling,_ a low, rumbling snarl building deep in her chest and rolling through her teeth—human teeth, for she was still holding her primal instinct at bay, hoping to frighten the slavers away without having to transform.

The three men looked at their leader, clearly perturbed. Kens uncertainly loosened his hold on a pale Ilona, stepping slowly away from her. Don looked taken aback; but with an attempt at his former condescending matter, he said, "Tha's a lovely trick, princess. Now you jus' come 'ere, nice an' easy-like, an'-"

He never finished his sentence. As he was speaking, he had been moving slowly forward, reaching toward Canisp. And as his fingertips brushed her arm, she released all of her built-up fear and fury in one fatal lunge.

Don never had a chance; she had taken out his throat before he realized he was in danger. The force of her spring knocked Don's body backwards, and the moment her paws touched earth, she leaped again. This time, her would-be victim managed to fling up an arm to protect his throat. Canisp's jaws snapped shut just above his elbow, and her mouth flooded with fresh blood.

In the flickering light of their little campfire, Canisp cut a truly terrifying figure—a blood-red wolf with great, spreading wings of shadow and flame, murder in her eyes and death in her flashing teeth.

The two men as yet uninjured might have been able to defeat her if they had tried. Canisp had no armor, and both of the men wore curved scimitars at their hips. But Canisp's transformation had scared them out of what few wits they had, and the weapons shook in their hands, useless as blades of grass.

Orion gave a piercing screech, beating his wings furiously and sending the rising column of smoke and sparks swirling around him. Vesta reared in agreement, and Orion held on. Together they looked like something out of an ancient tale, crafted to frighten children; some sort of hawk-shaped devil on a demon-horse with wild eyes. Vesta's hooves crashed to earth against the edges of the campfire, sending a new shower of sparks into the air, and Orion shrieked again. In a terrible voice that Canisp had never heard from him before, he cried "_Fly!_ Leave now, while you can—_filthy gore-crows!—_and you leave with your lives!"

It was the final straw. The three survivors screamed—and rather high-pitched screams they were, too, for grown men—and scrambled away into the darkness. Canisp suspected they would be running for quite some time.

_"And the next time I see you I'll be pecking out your eyes!"_ Orion screamed at their backs, and then it was quiet again.

Ilona gave a sigh of relief when the men began to retreat, but Canisp didn't share the sentiment. Her pulse was thundering in her ears, ferocity pumping through her veins. Every part of her _needed_, in the same way her lungs needed air,to chase the group down. She could feel every muscle in her body thrumming with power. Her strong legs prepared to launch her into what she knew would be a short pursuit. She would end it quickly—easily. She was a _hunter_; strong, mighty, unstoppable. Her fangs would melt into their necks like a hot knife through butter. Their blood would warm her throat and wash the fear from her heart—

_…Bathing our muzzles and warming our throats with the blood of any too weak to escape us…._

The world spun. Canisp gasped for breath, drowning in bloodlust, struggling for the surface. She had _welcomed_ it. She had been glad to use it, enjoyed the thrill of her prey's terror…

"Canisp?" Orion asked tentatively. "Are you all right?"

No, she wasn't. She had never wanted this. To use that kind of violent power was to relish pain and death. That was the Vereor's job. And yet…and yet it had felt _good._ Right…and yet, so very wrong at the same time. But hadn't she fought it off? Hadn't she pulled back, stopped herself when she realized what was happening to her? There could be no doubt that _slavers_ deserved any misfortune that befell them, but hadn't she let them live?

"Canisp?" Orion sounded worried.

"I'm all right," she said shakily. "The bloodlust was on me for a minute…but I'll be all right." Then, slowly, she turned to face the girl, who was staring at her with wide eyes.

"Ilona?" Canisp said tentatively. "Is everything… I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you…"

But Ilona didn't look scared. Her eyes were filled with a kind of nervous wonder, like she was afraid the winged wolf would vanish at any moment. Extending a tentative hand, she whispered, "May I…?"

By way of answer, Canisp approached her, glacially slow, careful step after careful step, and pressed her head into Ilona's palm. For several moments, they stayed that way, Ilona's thumb gently stroking the silky fur between Canisp's ears.

It was a moment so sacred as to make a goddess shy.

Then Canisp pulled back, and the spell was broken. "We should move on," she said, looking distastefully at Don's body. "I don't want to sleep here."

* * *

Half an hour later, they were settled further along the coast. It was the dead of night, the waxing moon almost directly overhead, but their experience with the slavers had rattled them, and no one felt like sleeping.

Four pairs of eyes—one dark brown, one huge and black, one light butterscotch and one deep, fiery gold—stared silently into the meager fire. Every once in a while, Canisp, who was still in wolf form, would lift one wing and fan the flames, but other than that the four travelers were still, each of them lost in thought.

The fight had shaken Canisp deeply, and not just because of her alarming fit of bloodlust. Remembering Maugrim's words brought back memories of what had happened directly after. Thor's face drifted behind her eyes, and a single hot tear forced its way out before she could stop it.

_"We both know what has to happen here, Canisp!"_

_"No! I won't. Thor, I won't leave you."_

"Canisp." Orion's voice, unusually soft, still managed to drown out the ghosts of that last conversation.

Canisp swallowed painfully, and her voice was reasonably steady when she answered, "Hmm?"

"I was just wondering… could you tell me about your family?"

Canisp's eyes tightened with a flash of pain. "Why?" The question came out harsh, but Orion didn't seem offended.

"I'm curious," he said simply.

Canisp took a deep, shaky breath. "All right." For several minutes, she continued staring into the fire. Then, without preamble, she began. "There were six of us. Jenga and Firebird were the only blood relatives, but we were still…"

"Family," Ilona said quietly. Canisp looked up in surprise and the girl ducked her head quickly, as if afraid she'd overstepped her place.

"Yes," Canisp said, trying to give Ilona an encouraging smile. It came out as a spasming sort of grimace. "Especially me and Meya. We weren't related; we only met when all the Wolves were forced into one pack. Still… we were sisters."

She paused, then continued. "Thor was my mate. More than that. He was… my soulmate. We were made for each other, just like Mercury and Firebird. Oh—nine. There were nine of us. I didn't count the pups."

"Your pups?" Orion asked. "Thor and yours?" For a split second, in the flickering light of the dying fire, Canisp thought she saw a flash of some fierce, powerful emotion in the Eagle's eyes…but Orion's eyes always looked fierce.

"No," Canisp said, very quietly. "Thor and I never… And changelings are sterile besides. We never had a chance. I was never meant to have pups."

Orion looked pained. "I'm-"

"Mercury and Firebird had three, though," Canisp said quickly, cutting him off. "Blitz, Erina and Moondust. A male and two females." A hard edge entered her voice. "A family of five. A mating everyone agreed was blessed by Aslan himself. And they died, all five of them together in the massacre of the home pack. No, that's not true," she corrected herself bitterly. "Moondust survived. Her own uncle killed her himself because it was the kindest fate."

Ilona blanched. "That's horrible."

Canisp gave a disgusted snort. _Horrible? _She wanted to say._ I've barely started._ But she didn't say it. Instead she said, "Warrior did it because he loved her. I know. I did the same for her aunt. It was a mercy killing, and it was what she wanted, but her blood is on my hands and I can never wash it off." Canisp was shaking now. "And Thor…Thor…I didn't want to leave him, but we were backed on the edge of a cliff and he told me to-"

"Canisp," Orion interrupted, "You're not answering my question." At her blank look, he said gently, "I didn't ask you to tell me about how your family died. I asked you to tell me about your _family_. What were they like?"

After another long pause, Canisp began again. Slowly, almost tentatively at first, she spoke of Meya's gentleness and quiet courage, Thor's tender warmth in the dark and the cold, Jenga's fierce loyalty and dry humor. Firebird's endlessly forgiving nature, Mercury's heartwarming devotion—she spoke of those, too, and of the growing pups they had loved. As the night wore on, she started remembering anecdotes—the time she and Meya had first met Jenga by the Great River, Govinia's fondness for tea, even Meya's role in the founding of the Resistance. Ilona, who had never seen snow, found a blow-by-blow account of one of the Great Narnian Snowball Fights fascinating. At Orion and Ilona's combined pleading, Canisp even took out her pipes and played a simplified version of "Earth and Sky", the song she had sung at Govinia's Initiation.

It was an extraordinary change to see in Canisp. Some long-dormant light, muted and dimmed by grief, had been rekindled. For the first time, she was thinking about the people she had lost without pain, and it felt _right_.

Orion watched Canisp, who was growing almost visibly brighter each minute, and his normally fierce eyes sparkled with tenderness.

**A/N:** For every smile there should be a tear.


	8. Legends

**Chapter 8-Legends**

"I'm a _bird_," Orion said incredulously.

"Ori," Canisp sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Please just turn around."

Grumbling incoherently, Orion shuffled around on his perch until he was facing away from the two girls. Sparing her friend an indulgent smile, Canisp handed Ilona a bundle of fabric. "I wish I had something that would fit you better."

Ilona smiled. "Absolutely no problem, mistr—my lady," she corrected herself awkwardly. "You…it's much better than what I'm used to. You're very kind."

Canisp nodded, unsure how to answer that. "And of course," she continued, turning aside as Ilona quickly stripped off her clothes and replaced them with Canisp's spare set, "Narnian hunting gear isn't the most inconspicuous, but if I go as a Calormene again we shouldn't attract undue attention." She turned and looked Ilona over approvingly. It wasn't nearly as awkward a fit as she had expected. The sleeves bagged at Ilona's elbows and the cotton pants pooled slightly at her feet, but it was nothing unmanageable and it was infinitely better than her threadbare rags.

"Can I turn around now?" Orion's voice dripped sarcasm.

"Yes, Ori."

The Eagle shuffled back around and gave Ilona a quick once-over. "Not bad," he said approvingly. "It's really not so different from what a slave in a well-off household might wear, if I'm not mistaken." Ilona's gracious nod confirmed his words.

Canisp frowned and flicked Orion on the back of the head. "Quit calling her a slave," she said sternly.

Ilona spoke up tentatively. "I don't mind," she said. "It's true."

Canisp rounded on her. "It's _not,"_ she said intently. "You don't belong to _anyone_, Ilona. You can leave whenever you like."

Ilona shrank back slightly, looking wounded, and Canisp instantly regretted her tone—but she didn't cringe, which surprised the changeling. There was more to this girl than met the eye.

"I meant, he's correct," she said, seeming to catch herself by surprise with the firmness of her tone. "It _is_ close enough to an under-slave that I won't stand out unless anyone is looking for something different." She paused. "...Ma'am," she added shyly.

* * *

Very few important conversations took place in Tashbaan that day. The Tisroc wrote a pardon for a man who had been accused of stealing. All over the city, traders told their clients they were getting a bargain, and clients insisted they were being robbed. Kind store owners and servants well-off enough to do so slipped small parcels of food and coins into the hands of ragged children. A Calormene woman announced impending motherhood to her overjoyed husband. They were all average, everyday conversations, nothing significant.

But one conversation would alter history. It had already taken place.

It had been a short exchange between a Calormene soldier and a terrified man—a sailor, by his accent—with a vicious wound on his right arm. The man had begged to be allowed into the city, and described in great detail the nightmare demons that had attacked him and his men. "I cain't stay a' here, sir," he said desperately. "No' wif those _things_ running' loose!" The soldier had scoffed and sent him packing, but in the morning he recounted the man's tale to his captain.

Now, this captain was a far more knowledgeable man than the guard. While he shared the typical Calormene distrust for Narnian legends, he immediately recognized that a human who turned into a winged wolf—not a half-wolf monster, the slaver had made that very clear—could, if it existed, mean only one thing.

_Tash be praised_, he thought in a mixture of terror and awe. _A changeling walks among us_.

* * *

"Remind me why we're doing this."

Canisp swallowed an exasperated sigh; it was, after all, a fair question, and she hadn't been treating Orion very well as of late. "Remind you why we're doing what?" she asked.

"Remind me why we're going _this_ way when Narnia is the other direction."

Canisp sighed. "First of all, I want my bow back," she said firmly. She didn't use the weapon often, to be fair; but she'd had one for so long that it didn't feel right to abandon it. "And I _know_ Narnia is the other direction, but if we were supposed to be going to Narnia we wouldn't have been dropped in Calormen."

"Maybe we were just supposed to rescue Ilona," Orion suggested. "We've done that, now let's go home."

"We found Ilona by accident…"

"There _are_ no accidents around you!" Orion retorted.

"Then we should probably do as she says," Ilona said suddenly from her position at Vesta's head, lightly touching the reins as Canisp rode so that she appeared to all the world a slave-girl leading her lady's horse. "If everywhere she goes is where she's meant to go, that is."

They stared at her.

"…What?" she asked. "If you found me by accident then there's clearly still something to be put right, and if you can get lost and wander through the backstreets of Tashbaan and still end up in exactly the right place at the right time to save a specific person, then if you're absolutely positive that you need to be somewhere I'm certainly not going to…argue with…" Eyes widening as she realized she was talking, Ilona dropped her eyes and clamped her mouth shut again, the back of her neck flushing.

"…Well," Orion muttered after a few moments of shocked silence. "That actually makes sense." When Ilona looked up in surprise, he winked at her, cheerful again. "Why couldn't you put it like _that_, Canisp?"

Canisp smiled and dropped a quick kiss on top of his head, surprising all present, including herself. "I didn't think of it," she said simply. "And aside from all that—I intend to use the rest of our Tarkaan friend's gold to buy her a good knife once we're in the city. So we have to go back, anyway."

Ilona blinked, surprised but pleased. "I'll not be able to use it, my lady," she said reluctantly.

Canisp squeezed her shoulder. "I'll teach you," she promised. "And Orion will help, won't you, Ori?"

Instead of answering, Orion cleared his throat, motioning with his head towards something just ahead of the group. Canisp followed his gaze; once again, his powerful eyes had seen what hers had not. The road was deserted-the gates of Tashbaan had opened over an hour ago, and most people in the area were either inside the city already or weren't planning on entering. However, they were coming abreast of the first of the pleasure homes leading up to the capital, and the gardener in front of the nearest home would surely question a young high-born woman, as Canisp was pretending to be, having a serious conversation with her hunting falcon.

Straightening slightly, Canisp shifted her gaze so that she was looking straight ahead, as if none of her companions held the slightest importance to her. Ilona also pulled herself up, switching from her easy stroll to an alert, businesslike trot. Vesta, who understood what was going on far better than Canisp realized, altered her paces as well, arching her neck and lifting her feet elegantly.

"Good girl," Canisp breathed, patting her gratefully on the neck. Then, in a clipped voice, she said, "You remember your instructions, I take it, Ilona?"

"Indeed, O my mistress and O the delight of my eyes," murmured Ilona on a low, subservient tone that Canisp had hoped fervently she would never hear from the girl again. In a barely audible whisper, Ilona then added, "But a Tarkheena would never call her handmaiden by her name unless there were at least three of them present."

Making a mental note of this, Canisp said at a normal tone, "Duly noted."

As they approached Tashbaan they said very little, for fear that they would give themselves away. Thankfully, the guards at the city gates didn't challenge them, and as soon as they were inside the walls Ilona took over. Taking hold of Vesta's bridle for real now, she led the Narnians through a labyrinth of narrow roads and back alleys with an unconscious confidence that spoke of years running errands through the twisting streets. Within minutes, they were tucked once more in an empty alleyway just around the corner from the main marketplace and only Ilona had the slightest idea how they had gotten there.

Orion gave a low whistle. "Forget inter-world transportation," he said. "_This_ girl is talented."

Canisp grinned, but flicked the back of his head with one finger.

"Quit _doing_ that," he muttered.

"If you don't stop talking you'll give us away," she said.

* * *

Orion took to the air, trusting his eyesight and infallible sense of direction to help him locate…well, whatever it was they were looking for. Anything out of the ordinary (Canisp herself put him on alert several times until he learned to recognize her in her Calormene) or anyone who looked like they needed help…

Soaring alone above the glittering splendor of Tashbaan, his heart ached bitterly for those three long-distant years of perfect freedom with Canisp. He wished he had someone to talk to.

* * *

Changelings are one of the few Narnian creatures who appear in Calormene legend exactly as they are. The others are the Beast (what Narnians would call a werewolf) and the Giant. Calormenes believe that changelings are servants of Tash, sent to bless the reigns of wise Tisrocs by bringing good luck. The legend most likely began thousands of years before Canisp's time, when a changeling first visited Calormene as she was.

This changeling had been a young man named Orvam. Orvam, the tales were always careful to mention, had short red-brown hair and large, expressive eyes. His secondary form (unlike Canisp, he preferred a human shape) was that of a fine twelve-point stag—thick-furred, swift-footed and with horns and hooves that glistened like gold. He had been instrumental in the defeat of a disgruntled general who was preparing to take the throne from Shidrash the Honest, one of the only worthy Tisrocs that Calormene had ever known. There is an altar to Orvam, covered with rich mahogany and delicate gilding, in the small town where he first appeared, and it is lovely. If you are ever in Calormene, you really must see it.

It was of this legend that the captain, whose name was Ishdar Tarkaan, was thinking as he knelt before the Tisroc, making his report. Ishdar had a good reason to be knowledgeable about the legend of Orvam. Eons ago, it had been his great-to-however-many-degrees grandfather's son, also named Ishdar, a mere child at the time and the youngest of eight, whom the deer had chosen to accompany him on his travels. The people of Calormen, as well as the priests of the High Temple (and their word was final) interpreted this honor as being taken to the kingdom of Tash. The youngster's family had been showered with honor and riches and the boy's father made a Tarkaan, a title he had handed down to his heirs.

Circles within circles, as the Narnians would say; or to use the Calormene expression, the greatest honor of man is to be woven into the gods' design.

* * *

Ilona looped Vesta's reins loosely around her wrist and took to the backstreets. Every slave in and around Tashbaan knew each other, and there was a strict information-sharing agreement among them. When lives were worth so little, it didn't do to keep secrets, and their owners treated them as little more than pieces of furniture, so it was rather easy to have access to gossip. And no piece of information ever managed to keep itself from Rita, the seamstress' girl.

If anyone was spreading tales about a Narnian wolf-demon stalking Tashbaan, Rita would know.

* * *

If the soldiers under Ishdar Tarkaan had gone after Canisp, it would have been the end of any hopes they harbored of finding her. Canisp had plenty of experience eluding authorities far stealthier and more skilled than Calormene cavalry; the first sign of discovery would have put her into deep hiding. However, none of the soldiers had actually _seen_ Canisp before; and at any rate she was wandering the streets at the moment, alternating between the parts of a storekeeper come to Tashbaan to trade and a friendly stray (children never did seem to mind the wings) and so hopelessly lost that she couldn't have found herself. All Ishdar Tarkaan knew was that this changeling was a teenage girl, slim but strong with strange eyes; and that she was travelling with a slave-girl and a fire-eagle that could speak. She was Narnian, but posing as a Calormene to avoid suspicion. She was also said to possess a remarkable chestnut mare.

Ishdar Tarkaan raised a closed fist, and the three men behind him stopped, reigning in their chargers. They were tucked in a sheltered alleyway—the same one, in fact, where Canisp had made her appearance the day before—and the Tarkaan had spotted someone across the marketplace.

It was a teenage girl, probably somewhere around the age of fourteen, standing patiently next to a fruit vendor's cart as if waiting for someone. She had a loose hold on the bridle of one of the finest mares Ishdar had ever seen; truly, it would outshine even the horses in his own stables, which he prided himself on. But it was the girl who interested Ishdar. She had Calormene skin, but was wearing what he now realized were Narnian clothes. Her eyes were… alert and proud, but not unusual. Still, changelings were mystical. Perhaps her eyes were only the "wolfy gold" the slaver had described if she felt angry or threatened.

He nodded to himself and spurred his horse forward.

* * *

Orion dropped out of the sky, barely flaring his wings in time to land on Canisp's hurriedly upflung arm. She winced as his talons pierced her skin, but there was no time to apologize.

"Canisp," the Eagle gasped, ignoring the shocked baker with whom Canisp had been conversing. "They've taken Ilona."


	9. Pursuit

**Chapter 9-Pursuit**

When the four riders trotted up to Ilona, she reacted as any born-and-bred Calormene would; she bowed her head, made herself as small as possible and got out of the way. Even Vesta seemed to agree with her, sidestepping to clear the alleyway behind them and allow the riders through.

So the both of them were more than a bit shocked when the mounted soldiers—Tarkaans all, by the looks of them—reined in their stallions and dismounted. The dismounting startled Ilona more than anything else; the only reasons Tarkaan soldiers dismounted was to arrest someone or to formally honor a superior officer, and she was most definitely not a superior _anything_. But if they meant to arrest her why hadn't one of them at least stayed mounted in case she ran, and more importantly what had she _done_…_?_

The captain drew his scimitar, and Vesta lowered her ears, stomping her right foot warningly. Ilona hastily patted her neck. "Easy," she murmured. After a moment of panic she had recognized the position of the Tarkaan's sword; it was not held in a threatening manner, but rather across his chest in a formal salute.

"Peace, noble servant of Tash," said the young Tarkaan. "We bear royal blessings from the great Tisroc Rabadash the Peacemaker (may he live forever) who humbly requests your presence at the palace. Should he fail to greet you the sun should be dark to his eyes and his food have no flavor, for the poets have said, 'The word of the gods is as bread and water to a worthy man'."

_Servant of Tash?_ Ilona thought. _Gods above, they think I'm Canisp._ "O my master," she began. "There-"

The Tarkaan cut her off respectfully. "No mortal man can claim to be thy master, O my mistress," he said humbly. "You who serve the inexorable Tash are above us all."

"I am not who you think I am!" Ilona insisted. "I am the servant of a changeling, nothing more!" Hoping she hadn't overstepped herself (it was so easy to fall into the habit of speaking freely, among Narnians!) she added piously, "Do not rank I who am unworthy amongst those who have the right of standing before Tash himself on both feet in their shoes."

The Tarkaan was surprised, but hid it well. "Then you are this changeling's mortal companion."

Ilona bowed; without even realizing it, the bow was in Narnian style, not Calormene. "Yes, sir."

The captain nodded and reached out a hand to her. "Come," he said. "We will take you to the Tisroc." Seeing her hesitation, he gave an encouraging smile. "Come, child. I will not hurt you."

Ilona looked at his hand, then into his eyes, and she knew he was telling the truth. He, at least, meant no harm. But the Tisroc? Rabadash the Ridiculous had no fondness for Narnia, and Canisp had already shown that if those she cared about were threatened, she would defend them and hang the consequences.

Rabadash _lived _on threats. Veiled threats, barely hidden threats, outright threats, ultimatums—he used them and he meant them. But more importantly, he _needed_ Canisp to be his pet angel of Tash. She could be a threat to him just as easily as a benefit if she refused; and if she didn't refuse, she would be expected to conform to Calormene expectations. Things like slave auctions, sacrifices, whippings and public execution fairs flashed behind Ilona's eyes. And once they were inside the palace…

In that moment, she knew that she could never take the hand the captain was offering her. This wasn't what Canisp stood for. She would never stand behind the Tisroc. To refuse outright was suicide…and yet. What choice did she have? Condemn the changeling to slavery herself?

Ilona's terror showed on her face.

And that was all Vesta needed.

Before anyone had time to react, she had whirled around and kicked Ishdar Tarkaan square in the chest, sending him flying backwards. Somehow, Ilona managed to leap and scramble onto Vesta's back, and they shot down the cobbled street as if they had the Vereor on their tail and not four mounted soldiers who thought Ilona had connections with gods.

Connections with gods or not, the soldiers' orders were to bring this girl to the Tisroc, and they barely paused to make sure their captain was unhurt before kicking their horses into pursuit.

Thus began what was possibly the finest race in Calormene history. Vesta could be guided by a feather-light touch, and several times it was only the horse's own quick thinking that stopped them from galloping straight into the arms of their pursuers. Ilona, however, knew the streets, and Vesta trusted her judgment, even when the girl decided to shake off the cavalry with a death-or-glory charge back through the marketplace that sent goats and silk and numerous fruits scattering to the winds.

Then the Calormene soldiers began to show their merit. They split up to cut off their prey, doubling back and making unexpected turns. Twice, the Narnians had to veer suddenly into alleys so narrow Ilona banged her knee on the bricks. At one point the Calormene pursuit actually caught them, blocking both ends of the street; without a second's thought Vesta ducked at a full gallop through the back door of a bakery, scared the living daylights out of a servant boy, jumped the counter (Ilona's head brushed the low ceiling) and bolted out the entrance. This unexpected move bought them a few seconds; they turned left, swung right, shot diagonally between two houses, and emerged to find…

…a dead end.

The wall was so close that Vesta nearly crashed into it before she had time to see it. As it was, she stopped so abruptly that Ilona, who had been riding extremely well considering she had never done it before, smashed her nose on the back of Vesta's head and tumbled to the rough street. She forced herself back onto her feet, trying to ignore the skin that had been torn from her arm. Vesta, looking apologetic, offered Ilona her back, and the girl hurriedly clambered back on.

Once Ilona was mounted once more, Vesta backed up almost to the end of the street. Ilona could hear hoofbeats and shouting from both directions, coming closer every second. They were trapped. There was nowhere left to run.

Except forward.

Vesta stared down the street. She launched herself forward with a suddenness that nearly toppled Ilona again, then stopped and backed up. Her eyes burned into the brick wall with a hard, blazing determination.

"That's not possible," breathed Ilona.

Vesta disagreed. With a furious whinny, she reared and plunged, throwing every bit of speed that she could strip from her body into her charge just as the first of the cavalry rounded the corner.

Ilona would later state many times that Vesta could have outstripped an arrow that day. The cherry-colored half-breed horse flew at the wall with such power and energy that the cavalry halted in astonishment.

_She's going to make it. By Aslan,_ Ilona thought, the first but not the last time she would invoke the Lion's name. _She's actually going to make it!_

But Ilona had been right the first time. As they neared the wall, Vesta suddenly tossed back her head, threw herself onto her haunches and skidded to a stop, rearing sharply to avoid hitting the bricks. Ilona was thrown again, violently this time. She slammed into the unforgiving cobblestones, and she had time to hear several somethings crack before her head crashed into the ground and her world went black.

The cavalry trotted up to them. Ishdar Tarkaan dismounted immediately and knelt beside the unconscious girl, ignoring the horse's defiant warning bugle. He sighed with relief as Ilona's eyes flickered open and focused on his face. She gasped and tried to scramble away, but cried out in pain and quickly stopped moving.

"Lie still, young maiden," said the Tarkaan. "You are injured, but with the grace of the gods you will recover."

One of his men stared open-mouthed at Vesta, who was now standing very still against the wall, looking at Ilona with worry and glaring distrustfully at Ishdar. "Demons above and below!" exclaimed the soldier. "Here is a horse from the stables of Tash himself!"

"Ravings of a madman," said a cold voice from above them.

* * *

Canisp looked down at the four men. They didn't seem aggressive towards Ilona; indeed, their captain was inspecting her injuries, and it seemed they had no desire to use force against her.

Canisp found their reactions upon seeing her highly amusing. She knew she shouldn't enjoy their cries of terror and awe, or the way they immediately dismounted and dropped to their knees, but it was one of those things that one can't help but enjoy.

She shifted into human form, ignoring the gasps of the kneeling soldiers, and jumped down from the top of the wall. The landing was a bit heavy, but the cavalry men were too busy kowtowing to notice that. Kneeling next to Ilona, she looked her over with concern. Her golden eyes widened when she saw the lump on Ilona's temple, the scrape on her arm and the impressive amount of blood that her broken nose was producing, which likely looked more serious than it actually was. At the sight of the girl's wrist, which was held at an unmistakably unnatural angle, Canisp could no longer contain a furious snarl. "By the Lion!" she exclaimed. "What did you _dogs_ do to her?"

"O my mistress and O the delight of-" began Ishdar.

"Stop it," Canisp snapped. "I've had enough of the Calormene babble. Just answer me."

"We did not harm her, my mistress," said Ishdar hurriedly. "She was thrown from her horse and landed badly."

"On her face and her wrist at the same time?"

Ilona spoke up weakly. "Vesta was trying to jump the wall, my lady."

Canisp blinked and looked between Ilona and the wall. "This wall?"

"Yes."

"That's impossible."

"Yes."

"She has dislocated her shoulder, my mistress, and her wrist is broken as well. I believe she may have also injured her ribs but they do not appear broken. She hit her head badly but it seems she will not suffer any permanent damage, and though her arm bleeds it is merely a scrape, and your companion is strong." Ishdar ducked his head subserviently, and Canisp was impressed with the professional certainty of his summary in spite of herself. "And she bears the blessing of Tash the irresistible, does she not?"

Orion, who was still perched on top of the wall, looked askance at him. When Canisp signed to him that he might as well speak—the game was up now, after all—he said, "Did you hit your head as well?"

Ishdar jumped at the sound of Orion's voice, but rallied quickly. "The…the Tisroc (may he live forever) has the finest physicians in the land," he said to cover up his blunder. "I am merely an amateur. They can soon make her well."

"I don't doubt they could," Canisp agreed. "But what interest would the Tisroc's pet healers have in her?"

Ishdar looked shocked that she would even have to ask. "You are a changeling," he said. "A servant of Tash. This we have seen with our own eyes. You are higher than any mortal man save the Tisroc, may he live forever."

"Servant of…" Canisp spluttered. "Servant of Tash! Of all the ridiculous _arf!"_

This high-pitched and almost comically doglike yelp was the result of a well-placed kick on Ilona's part, which drove the wind from Canisp's lungs and effectively shut her up. While she was gasping for breath, Ilona looked up at Ishdar and said—magnificently, in spite of the fact that she was pale as death and covered in blood, "It is… aaaah… well said, good man, and my mistress thanks you. I am sorry that I led you such a chase, but as you see, it is my mistress' place to accept the Tisroc's invitation, not mine." As she spoke, she placed her uninjured hand weakly on her leg, two fingers crossed.

It was one of Canisp's silent signals. It meant _trust me_.

And as much as Canisp had wanted to remain inconspicuous, as much as her very nature cringed away from the thought of playing an angel of Tash—_Tash!_—she trusted Ilona.

There were many practical reasons to walk into the palace of her own free will. Ilona needed the kind of serious medical care than couldn't be provided on the run; if Canisp was trying to set right some great injustice, there were few better places to do so than in the heart of the Calormene government; and, as Orion kept having to remind her, everything happened for a reason, and they needed to trust in Aslan's design. But as the monumental gates of the Tisroc's palace, dripping with jewels and ivory, closed behind them, none of these reasons crossed her mind. The only thought in Canisp's head was:

_Ilona, I hope you know what you're doing._

__**A/N:** For the record, no, Canisp isn't an angel of Aslan, either. She's not an angel period. She is exactly what Aslan said she was.


	10. Flight

**Chapter 10-Flight**

The next few days were like something out of a dream to the travel-weary quartet. Proper healing and perfect rest—both unheard-of luxuries thus far in her life—did wonders for Ilona, and she began to look like someone who really had seen Aslan's country, though the Calormenes insisted it was the kingdom of Tash.

Vesta was already becoming the stuff of legends. Canisp laughed to herself to hear some of the stories told about the horse; some were merely exaggerated accounts of her speed, while others insisted she could fly. She was treated better than the Tisroc's own war-horses; washed and brushed, her mane and tail painstakingly combed, oil dabbed on her hooves. Her large, airy box (in the finest section of the stables, of course) was scattered with rushes and palms dipped in rose oil, which she and Canisp both seemed to think was fairly ridiculous, but she didn't seem to be complaining.

Ilona's fears that Orion would be reviled as a Narnian "demon" were averted by a stroke of quick-witted genius that earned Canisp's respect forever, as well as showcasing one of the girl's most valuable talents; Ilona could lie at the drop of a hat. She introduced Orion by saying that he was a changeling as well, but he had once disobeyed "the great god Tash", and as a punishment his shapeshifting power was stripped from him. This venture—or, as Ilona put it to Ishdar, "The mission of which they may not speak to mortal men"—was his only chance to regain his full powers. Canisp had hastily followed this up by pointing out that Rabadash's reign was in fact blessed by the presence of _two_ changelings.

This made the Tisroc very happy.

Now, of course, the palace people couldn't get _enough_ of Orion. They went out of their way to please him with surprising thoroughness. Gold-and-ivory perches, adorned with precious gems and cobalt enamel, were placed in the room he shared with Canisp. Both supposed changelings were impressed by the cooks' creativity when they delivered up a silver plate covered with a collection of deliciously-prepared… mice. Orion would often reminisce dreamily, years later, about the spicy, aromatic orange sauce on rat that would become his favorite, or else the fresh, minty mouse glaze he often had as a second course. Canisp would invariably laugh, but the recipes were truly quite impressive. She was far more grateful, however, for the white-leather falconry glove she had received almost as an afterthought. It was a great relief; careful as he might be, Orion could hardly help but pierce her skin once in a while, landing on her bare arms as he did.

Canisp herself was treated like a queen. Their room was almost ridiculous in its finery. The down mattress was so soft as to actually make it difficult for Canisp, so accustomed to hard ground and stone dens, to sleep. She generally dozed off on the wide red-velvet cushion of the window seat, which was still more comfortable than anything she had ever experienced before. Their first day in the palace she immediately restocked her supply of medicinal herbs. Poinsettia, unfortunately, was rare in Calormen, but Ilona promised that the minute she was allowed out of bed she would find her some. At any rate, they were taken such good care of here that Canisp couldn't really imagine that she would need such emergency healing anytime soon.

And then, of course, there were the clothes. Once it became apparent that the completely impractical dresses favored by the Tarkheenas made her skin crawl, she was provided with tailored silk tunics and loose-fitting pants that were far more to her liking. Rich midnight-purple silk embroidered with coiled silver dragons, bold scarlet emblazoned with gold designs copied from the hilt of her knife, pale orange that shimmered in a breeze like the color of a sunset on the ocean…it was actually a bit frightening. She had never been surrounded by such wealth in her life.

But behind all the splendor and riches were unsettling signs. After being told that Orion was deathly afraid of enclosed spaces, all of his ornate perches were placed near windows, but the windows had been sealed shut. They were given free reign of the palace, but whenever they stepped outside, it seemed like the guard around the grounds had instantly been doubled. A maid had been assigned to serve them until Ilona had recovered; Ilona insisted that she was fine, but the healers were taking no chances with a changeling's servant, especially one who apparently thought 'fine' meant 'concussed with two cracked ribs and a broken wrist'.

There would have been nothing suspicious about this arrangement had the woman not locked their door from the outside when she left at night, or if it was in fact possible to _un_lock that particular device from inside the room at all. While even a human would have found this mildly disturbing, it had a deep psychological effect on the two Narnians. Their powerful instincts were rubbed raw by the thought of being trapped. Canisp understandably hated locked doors, which her subconscious equated with whips and chains, but even so she was far better off than Orion. In less time than it takes to say "claustrophobia", he became so tense and anxious that his feathers began falling out.

This nervous tension quickly became infectious. On the third night, when both Canisp and Orion had come to the conclusion that they were going to go utterly and completely mad if they couldn't get out of this room _right now,_ the door opened.

It was only thanks to pure reflexive instinct that Canisp had time to reach up and grab Orion as he shot past her head for the opening. She just managed to catch his legs as he made his break.

With some difficulty, their rescuer slipped the hairpin she had used to pick the lock back into her hair, using only her uninjured left hand. "The window in my room is open, my lady," she whispered.

Ilona had come through.

* * *

And so began a strange routine. Every night, Ilona would break out of the servant's quarters next door to her mistress' and spring Canisp and Orion, neither of whom would ever show an aptitude for lock-picking, despite Ilona's many attempts to teach them. The two 'changelings' would slip next door into Ilona's smaller, simpler room, throw open the window, and engage in a long, late-night flight, circling above Tashbaan. They were certain that these flights were common knowledge; it wasn't as if they tried to hide them. They guessed that the only reason they were never confronted about them was because that would mean acknowledging that the Tisroc was trying to keep them locked up. And besides, they always returned.

Tonight, however, Canisp just wasn't in a circling mood. After a few minutes of stretching her wings above the Palace, she dipped her left wing slightly and dropped into a slow, shallow descent, landing lightly on the pointed roof of the highest tower. The carved marble designs along the edge of the turret provided the perfect foothold, preventing Canisp from slipping off the smooth blue tiles. Shifting carefully to human form, she settled herself on the roof and gave a tired sigh. As she looked out over the sleeping city, she found herself absently massaging the thick, ropy scars on her left wrist; it was an unconscious habit she had gotten into.

While it was a far cry from the wonders of Narnia, this particular tower had been designed for its view, and said view was stunning. The Palace was located at the top of the island-hill of Tashbaan, providing an uninterrupted view over the countryside. The slow, even river parted around the city, glittering in the light of the moon; and, more importantly than the moon, the precious diamond stars that collected into the Leopard, the Ship, the Armchair—all the old constellations.

On a whim, Canisp took out the set of pipes Tumnus had given her, realizing how long it had been since she last played them properly; the simple rendition of "Earth and Sky" she had given Ilona didn't really count. Hoping she hadn't forgotten how (unlikely; she had learned from Fauns) she brought the carved instrument to her lips and blew a quick collection of breathy notes recognizable as a whippoorwill call. Dissatisfied, she tried the call again, this time producing a clearer sound. From there she moved on to a veritable menagerie of birdsong. Most of them she didn't know the name for; they were just tunes she remembered from Narnian mornings.

Gaining confidence, she began adding embellishments to the trilling melodies, transforming them, following tangents that seemed to crop up without her realizing it, until her fingers were flying of their own accord, remembering, singing their own symphony. The song rose and fell, twisted and whirled like a flock of starlings, working itself into a frenzy. Only then did her fingers slow, and she reversed the process; the symphony returned to a combination of bird calls, which began to separate, until finally she was once more calling out to a lone whippoorwill on a still night.

There was a loud flapping near her head. Leaning back, Canisp looked up and graced Orion with a lazy smile. "Ori," she said softly by way of greeting.

Orion smiled. "I thought I heard someone torturing a mockingbird," he said teasingly.

Canisp grimaced. "Was I that bad?"

"No. You were…phenomenal, actually."

"Obviously not," Canisp said drily, "Because that was a whippoorwill."

Orion shook his head. "It was a mockingbird."

"No, this is a mockingbird," Canisp said, playing a different collection of notes.

"That's a whippoorwill."

"It's a mockingbird!"

"You're arguing with _me_ about birdsongs?"

Canisp glared at him, and he chuckled. Unable, as usual, to stay angry with him, Canisp gave a contented sigh and leaned back against the roof.

After a long, easy silence, Orion asked, "Canisp?"

"Hmm?"

"How long has it been since we flew together—really flew?"

A slow smile spread across Canisp's face. "Far too long."

Orion gave his trademark grin, tipped her a jaunty wink, and dropped off the tower, catching the weak column of warm air rising from the cooling flagstones of the courtyard and flying away without a backward glance. Stowing her pipes, Canisp stood and leaped off the edge of the roof. She twisted, shifting to wolf form in midair. Then she snapped out her wings and soared.

It was freedom like she'd never imagined it, flight as she'd never dreamed it could be. Tonight, with Orion at her side, Canisp was queen of the skies. Together they corkscrewed through the air. They rose and fell in perfect synchronization, racing with the wind and chasing stars across the heavens. They twisted tightly and plunged down into the city, dodging buildings and weaving through the narrow streets. They couldn't have stopped if they tried; Canisp twice had to shoot through an impossibly narrow gap between two buildings, only avoiding having her wings shorn off by flipping sideways at the last instant and passing through diagonally. Tiring of this, they hurtled upwards just to see how high they could go; then, when Orion was shivering and Canisp feeling dizzy from lack of oxygen, they folded their wings and plummeted toward the desert below.

At the last possible moment, they pulled out of their dive and used the sheer momentum it had given them to race across the dunes. They copied the lightning-fast movements and hairpin turns of swallows in summer, skimming recklessly close to the ground; at one point, the tip of Canisp's wing traced a thin line in the sand. When they had bled off their speed, they altered the angles of their feathers and swept into the skies in a dizzying combination of twisting rolls, loop-the-loops and midair somersaults.

Gradually, their aerobatics grew slower, more relaxed. The hard, forceful cornering gave way to wide, graceful turns as they soared aimlessly on gentle breaths of wind. Eventually they found themselves over the palace and, pleasantly exhausted, they landed in a flurry of black and white, eyes shining as they hadn't in years.

Panting slightly, Orion met Canisp's sparkling gaze and whispered, "Wow."

Canisp nodded, out of breath herself. "That was…amazing."

"Canisp," Orion said warningly.

Canisp cocked her head. "What?" she whispered. "It's true. I've never flown like that before—"

"_Canisp!_"

The urgent hiss was a tone Canisp knew. Instantly alert, she muttered, "Where?"

"Eight o'clock," Orion whispered back. "The stables."

Following his line of sight, Canisp gave a low snarl as she saw what he meant. Normally, Orion's eyes were far more powerful than hers; but wolves, unlike eagles, can see in the dark. So while Orion had caught the flicker of movement, it was Canisp who spotted the shrouded figure that, black-on-black as it was, would be all but invisible to human eyes.

A figure in a dark cloak, who was trying very hard not to be seen, was slipping into Vesta's stall.

**A/N:** What, you thought the first chapter was there for no reason?


	11. Acceptance

**Chapter 11-Acceptance**

The stable was pitch-black inside, which is never good camouflage for a white wolf. The marble floors—only the best for the Tisroc—were also not helpful, as they were all but impossible for Canisp to walk on without her sharp nails clicking loudly; though, as she would soon learn, she needn't have worried about making noise. Vesta was perfectly calm in her box at the end of the stable, but Canisp was still determined to discover who the intruder was, at the very least.

She crept down the wide hallway, tail tucked tightly between her legs. Once she reached the stall door she shifted silently to human form and stood, flattening herself against the wall and attempting to peer in. Unfortunately, the cloaked figure was standing against the same wall on the inside, meaning that Canisp had an excellent view of Vesta's rump but could see nothing of the stranger. Vesta glanced up and saw Canisp, but far from being glad to see her she seemed to almost resent her presence. She turned back to her visitor with an air that said quite clearly, "_I am going to ignore you, in the hope that you will take a hint and leave."_

Nonplussed, Canisp decided that it was high time she learned what was going on. Clearing her throat, she said loudly, "What exactly do you think you're doing?"

Canisp had been ready for any number of responses. The one thing she hadn't anticipated, however, was…nothing. It was as if she hadn't spoken. The person in there was either singularly difficult to startle…or had known she was there all along.

She gave a low snarl. Canisp did not appreciate being toyed with. She wanted to know who this intruder was, what they were doing, and why exactly they were ignoring her. Her natural defensive and territorial instincts—what Dinaric called _the_ _inherent aspects of a semi-lupine mentality_ and she called being irritated—were flaring up in full force. At the same time, however, the intruder hadn't hurt Vesta, so kicking down the stall door and putting a knife to their throat was probably not the best course of action.

"Look," she said. "I know you're in there. Will you please just explain what's going on here?"

There was no response.

"Oh, for pity's sake," Canisp muttered. Exasperated, she pushed away from the wall and glared through the bars. "Who _are_ you?" she demanded.

Finally, the cloaked figure looked up. It was nothing more than a cursory glance, a sort of automatic response. Then he did a double-take and scrambled back, abject terror on his face. His fingers fumbled for the bolt of the exterior door, but he jerked them away when Orion dove out of the night sky, flared his wings and landed on said door. The Eagle had given the boy's hand the kind of look normally reserved for prey.

The young man's panic set off alarm bells in Canisp's head. There was no reason to react that way if his intentions were innocent. A clear conscience would leave him no cause to fear her.

Orion cleared his throat. "Ah… Canisp? Is there a lamp over there?"

Canisp glanced to her left; there was an oil lamp mounted on the wall. "Yes. Why?"

"Your eyes," Orion explained. "I think they're scaring him."

It took Canisp a few seconds to understand. "Oh!" she exclaimed. She was so used to being around Wolves and other Beasts that she'd all but forgotten the fact that glowing green eyes were not precisely the norm in human society. She quickly lit the mounted lamp, made of faintly pink glass etched with the figure of a rearing stallion. Warm light flooded the stall, and the young man relaxed slightly as the darkness vanished and her eyes returned to normal; or at the very least, as normal as they ever were.

"Are you going to answer me?" she demanded. The young man looked disproportionately terrified by this question, cringing and bowing deeply but making no answer. Canisp's hand drifted to the hilt of her knife. "Tell me your name," she ordered, stepping forward.

Before she could take so much as a single step, however, Vesta did something highly unexpected. Giving a violent snort, she half-reared, lashing out warningly with her front hooves. Canisp jumped back in shock and Vesta calmed slightly, but she still pranced restlessly and kept a distrustful glare fixed on the changeling in whose hands she had once placed her life.

Concerned by her agitation, the young man raised his hand, opened with the palm towards Vesta. Somehow, this simple action seemed to drain the tension from the horse. She relaxed, slowly stopping her nervous dance, and touched her nose softly to the boy's outstretched hand.

"…Vesta?" Canisp said uncertainly.

Vesta looked around guiltily and walked to Canisp's side, pressing her heavy head against the changeling's shoulder and letting her pat her neck. Inevitably, irresistibly, however, her head turned back to the stranger. With a lost little whicker, she lifted her foot, hesitated, put it down again. She looked torn as she turned back and forth between boy and changeling. Finally, she seemed to steel herself and crossed back over to the boy, standing in front of him so that he was sheltered between her bulk and the corner of the stall. Her head was drooped submissively, her eyes pleading as she looked at Canisp, but her stance was still defensive.

Canisp sighed. "Get out of the way, Vesta." There was no heat in her voice as she gestured Vesta away, but the mare still refused to move. She gave a low, plaintive whinny, as if to say, _Can't you see I can't?_

"Canisp," Orion began gently, but she cut him off with a raised hand.

"It's all right, Ori, I understand." Looking Vesta in the eyes, she slowly slipped off her sword belt. Vesta's eyes narrowed. She flicked her ears back and shifted into a more offensive stance, relaxing only when Canisp hung the knife on the manger and stepped out of arm's reach.

"There," Canisp said soothingly. "I'm not going to hurt your friend." Once more she raised a hand and motioned for the horse to move; and slowly, cautiously, she did.

Up close, in the light, the boy didn't look like a threat. The black cloak he had been wearing lay discarded on the floor, and it was the only garment he wore that wasn't worn, frayed, and/or patched. His feet were bare, his eyes wide and frightened, and Canisp found she was softening towards him in spite of herself.

"What's your name?" she asked.

He flinched at being addressed and dropped to his knees so quickly it looked like his legs had been cut from under him. And in that action, Canisp knew him.

"You!" she said in surprise. "I've seen you before! You wouldn't talk then, either," she remembered. Looking rather irritated at his continued silence, she told him, "I'm not going to eat you, you know. There's a difference between a beast and a Beast, no need to act like I'm… feral. Just because I can transform doesn't mean I'm an animal." When he didn't respond, she snapped, "What is it with you? I'm not a werewolf, either! I should think even you could tell the difference! I'll have you know-"

Orion cleared his throat pointedly. Canisp cut herself off to look at him, puzzled, and he inclined his head, indicating something behind her. Before she had time to be alarmed by this, a soft voice spoke up.

"He can't hear you, my lady."

Canisp jumped, but she was familiar enough with Ilona's voice that she didn't panic at the sound. She turned to find Ilona, pale and shaking slightly, hesitating just outside Vesta's stall.

"Ilona?" Canisp said. "What are you doing here?"

Not meeting her eyes, Ilona said, "It's… it's nothing, my lady." Indicating the kowtowing slave boy somewhat awkwardly with her left hand (her right was still in a sling), she said, "But he's deaf, he can't hear you."

"How do you know that?" Canisp asked incredulously.

Ilona gave a weak smile. "I'm a slave, my lady. I know everything." This was something she had said many times, but rather than wearing the teasing grin that usually accompanied the statement, Ilona seemed close to tears.

"Are you all right?" asked Orion. He hadn't looked away from the boy; he was watching him with a vigilance only a hawk could manage. But his concern was clearly for Ilona.

She took a shaky breath and drew herself up. "I'm fine."

Canisp didn't believe her for a minute, but she let it go, turning back to Vesta's visitor. "So he's deaf?" she asked.

"That explains a lot," said Orion, looked severely embarrassed.

"Yes," said Ilona, slipping into the stall and bolting the door behind her. "His name is Hosni." Looking apologetic, she added, "And he's probably scared out of his mind right now, if you don't mind me saying."

She was right; Hosni was quivering, forehead in the straw on the floor. Canisp felt a pang of guilt and moved toward him, but Vesta got there first. Hosni looked up and smiled when the chestnut mare nudged him, then looked fearfully at Canisp. She held up her hands and smiled reassuringly, and he got slowly to his feet, pulling a piece of parchment from his sleeve. He picked up a charred skewer from the floor and glanced back up at Canisp, as if asking permission. When she granted it with a curious wave of her hand, he leaned back against the wall and continued his sketch.

"Well," Orion muttered, "At least we know what he was doing."

Canisp nodded, rather taken aback. "Never would have guessed," she admitted. Turning back to Ilona, she said, "Which brings us back to: What are you doing here?"

Ilona flushed and looked at her feet. "I… no reason, my lady."

Canisp waited. Eventually, Ilona sighed and said, "I was watching you from the window, and I saw you sneak into the stable. I know you don't like it here and I didn't know if something had happened, or…I just thought…I mean, I assumed…"

Canisp had gone very still. "You thought we were running out on you."

Ilona nodded shamefacedly, and pity welled up inside Canisp. Ilona was too kind, too bright to have never had anyone willing to stand by her; yet it seemed that was the case.

"Ilona." Canisp placed her hands firmly on the girl's thin, strong shoulders. "You're a part of our pack now. Part of our family. We are _never_ going to leave you behind."

"Frankly, I'm insulted," said Orion, only half-joking, treating Ilona to his trademark smile. "As if we would abandon a flock member."

Ilona didn't look convinced. "I'm…only a slave, my lady…"

Canisp squeezed her shoulder. "Ilona," she said softly. "Not to us."

Slowly, the expression in Ilona's eyes began to shift from disbelief to wonder. "What do you mean, I'm part of your pack?"

Canisp, noting the lack of an honorific with satisfaction, smiled. "Just that. There are few bonds as strong as those of a pack, Ilona. Our pack—our flock," she added, nodding to Orion. "You, me, Vesta, Ori—we're a part of each other. And once any one of us cares about someone, they become a part of us as well. Even if they don't realize it, we look after them just as fiercely as we take care of each other."

"…Any one of us, my lady?" Ilona asked, but she wasn't looking at Canisp.

The changeling followed her line of sight. She was looking at Hosni frowning slightly in concentration as he sketched; but more importantly, she was looking at Vesta, who was watching the boy with unmistakable fondness in her great black eyes.

"Yes," said Canisp after a long pause. "Any one of us."


	12. Shifting

**Chapter 12-Shifting**

The chasm was black as ink, black as boiling night. She couldn't see the bottom, but she could _feel_ it, miles below as she skidded to a stop at the extreme edge of the rocky cliff. Her companion also slid to a halt, bumping into her from behind. She yelped in terror as her forepaw slipped off the lip of the ravine, but she flared her wings and managed to recover.

"Sorry," whispered the wolf at her flank. Together, they turned around.

The werewolf squadron was arrayed before them, hulking black shadows with red eyes burning in the dark.

"Give in, wolf," growled the leader, his rough voice grating on Canisp's strained nerves. "You cannot escape."

"Watch me," she snapped. The wolf beside her snarled fiercely for good measure, and together they bolted for the trees.

It was as they fought their way through the undergrowth that Canisp caught the other wolf's scent; a thick, masculine musk that she knew from _somewhere_. Her heart leapt to her throat. _Maugrim._ Who else could it be? What other wolf's scent was so terrifyingly familiar to her?

Well, fine. If Maugrim wanted to flee for his life with a werewolf horde at his heels, let him. Maybe he would trip and they could take him out.

But their pursuers were falling behind, the sound of their footsteps fading to silence, and Maugrim's panting was becoming less urgent and more eager. Burning fury bubbled up in Canisp's veins._ Never again;_ she had sworn that much in the Witch's dungeons. Every night when he left her, shaking uncontrollably, cowering in a filthy corner, choking on mingled tears and blood, she had sworn it to herself.

_Never again._

The darkness began to recede, and through the trees Canisp saw the moonlit clearing that would be her salvation. She suddenly flung herself forward, abandoning all pretense as she put her hope in a last, desperate sprint; Maugrim launched into a proper chase, a disgustingly excited yelp escaping him. Canisp smashed through the tree line, the dark male an instant behind her. She planted her feet, whirled, buried her lethal fangs deep in his throat, and tore away. He fell with a gurgling cry at her feet, and she looked down contemptuously at…

…_Thor._

She gasped and backpedalled in horror as her mate collapsed in a rapidly spreading pool of his own blood. He turned his sad, dark eyes to her and spoke. Somehow, despite his torn throat, the soft voice was as even as she remembered.

"Canisp," he said gently. "Are you so far gone?"

* * *

Canisp's eyes opened.

Troubled as the dream had left her, she was still grateful that for once she hadn't woken up screaming. But while it hadn't been as heart-poundingly terrifying as her usual nightmare, there was a much more disturbing quality to this dream, and not just because she had seen her mate die before her eyes; not just because she had _killed _him, even_._

It was because she felt sure that Thor had wanted an answer, and she didn't understand the question. _Are you so far gone?_ What did that even mean?

She heaved a heavy sigh. While she didn't move, she raised her eyes to where she knew Orion would be sleeping on his perch. His own eyes were open and watchful, very much awake, when they met hers. He didn't move and he didn't speak; his eyes simply asked if she wanted help, and hers answered that she didn't. Finally, she dropped her gaze and turned away, curling up on the window-seat cushion so that she was looking out over the courtyard rather than into the room. Sighing again, she tucked her head under a wing, closed her eyes, and went to sleep.

* * *

Orion's eyes were unfocused as he watched Canisp's breathing begin to slow, her sides rising and falling more evenly. He was glad that she had been spared her horrors for one night; hopefully, it would become a pattern. But the Eagle's reflections were far from the visions that plagued his friend; the thoughts that had kept him awake all night were centered, not in a forest of death, but rather in a lamplit stable.

He was thinking about Canisp's words to Ilona, about pack and family. He had never heard her sound so… tender. So loving. She had sounded… he didn't know what she had sounded like.

Orion sighed. If he was honest with himself, he knew exactly how Canisp had sounded, and he knew why it had him so agitated. When she spoke to Ilona, her voice had been… maternal. He ruffled his feathers, creating an insulated layer of air to protect himself from that truth. Canisp had sounded like a _mother_, like exactly the kind of she-wolf who _should_ be a mother, and in a moment of rare bitterness Orion thought it cruel fate that she would never have chicks…_pups,_ he corrected himself mentally…to call her own.

He tucked his head unhappily under a bicolored wing, but when the sun peeked over the palace walls that morning, it found him still awake, wishing he could change something far out of his control.

* * *

The break of dawn is a sacred time; especially so, perhaps, to a changeling. Canisp had always felt a powerful draw to the sunrise; the slow, steady change from darkness to light called to her. She had always made an effort to see the sun first appear over the horizon, and this morning was no different. Still and silent, she watched the Eastern wall of the palace, and there was a quiet sparkle in her butterscotch eyes when the very edge of the burning sun emerged. Its first pale rays glittered in the glass windows, outlining her feathers in rosy pink, and she spread her wings slightly without realizing it, catching the first precious beams of light as if welcoming them into the world.

When she finally turned from the window, it was as if she was surfacing from a deep lake. She gave a gentle smile when she saw Ilona sitting up in bed watching her. She had told the girl to spend the night in their room; despite her assurances to the contrary, it had been clear that Ilona was still afraid that the Narnians would disappear if she let them out of her sight.

Ilona dipped her head in a friendly manner. "Good morning, my lady," she whispered.

Canisp acknowledged her with a courteous inclination of her muzzle. Orion, who had given up any vain hope of getting sleep when the sun started to rise, blinked in mild surprise. The nod was a very natural gesture, but at the same time it wasn't one he had seen before. Had he possessed a more intimate knowledge of the nuances of free Wolves, he would have recognized the movement as a distinctive Alpha gesture; Canisp, presented with a proper pack in need of leadership, had stepped quite literally overnight into the position.

"Are you hungry, Ilona?" she asked.

Ilona nodded hesitantly.

Canisp let her tongue loll happily out the side of her mouth as she grinned. "Best get something to eat, then. We have things to do today."

* * *

Before she met Canisp, Ilona would never have thought it was possible to be grateful for being ordered back to work after a long period of perfect rest and delicious food. However, _work_ somehow seemed the wrong term. She loved it; she loved feeling useful and appreciated, and she treasured the new class she had been placed in. Canisp, having never been comfortable with the idea of Ilona being her servant and flat-out refusing to own a slave, had been extremely grateful when Orion first used the term _subordinate_ to describe Ilona's place in their group. "After all," he said, "If we're a flock…pack, rather…that makes you the Head, Canisp. I mean, the Alpha. Which means Ilona would be like a Trail. Or subordinate wolf, I think."

Ilona grinned to herself as she hurried through the streets of Tashbaan. _Subordinate wolf_. She liked the sound of it; especially, perhaps, when Canisp used it herself. It sounded…free. She didn't mind being called a Trail, either. Orion was one himself; it was simply the Narnian Eagle's term for the vast majority of the flock.

Ilona's first day after the Healers finally released her was a busy one. She spent several hours—a record length of time for her—tracking down a flower shop on the outskirts of Tashbaan that sold poinsettia. This accomplished, she visited several different apothecaries trying to find the rest of the herbs and healing plants Canisp had requested. Ilona wished fervently that she knew how to read; she didn't like just handing over the list and watching storeowners cross out lines of symbols she couldn't understand; how could she know if she was even being given what she was meant to get_?_

Eventually, Canisp's healing supplies were replenished and then some, and Ilona turned to her next task with much more enthusiasm. The marketplace was as full and noisy today as it ever was, but far from being frightening, the Tashbaan native found the familiar clamor a comfort as she wove through the throngs, pausing to buy oranges and bananas and sausages and cheese, which she tucked into a plain leather pouch. The food was for Hosni; true to her word, Canisp now considered Hosni a member of her pack, and she took care of her own. Knowing only too well what such a gift would have meant to her not long ago, Ilona took a special pleasure in it. She stopped in a bakery to buy him a loaf of bread on her way back to the palace, and in a moment of giddiness added a sweet bun and several small, sugary cakes to the bundle.

Returning to the palace via the servants' entrance, Ilona deflected the guards' questions by telling them—truthfully, for once—that she had been on an errand for her mistress. Once around the corner, she hurried up a narrow staircase, down a dark hallway, and, several wrong turns later, managed to backtrack and find Hosni's quarters.

It was nothing like her own sensible, pleasant little room. It wasn't horrible; not too cramped, the bed at least had a mattress, and while there were no windows there was a small fireplace. Still, it was clearly made for a slave, and not a particularly important one at that.

Ilona smiled slightly as her eyes wandered over the charcoal drawings on the walls. Hosni had talent; it was Vesta, unmistakably Vesta and no other horse, who looked out at her from within the cool stone. Hosni was nowhere to be seen—more than likely he was out looking for a glimpse of the real Vesta, who was probably out in the open field around this time.

Placing the leather pack of food on the narrow bed, Ilona reached into her pocket and drew out a snowy feather; one of Canisp's own, which she had plucked out, wincing, before Ilona left. They all wanted Hosni to know who his friends were, so he knew he could trust them. Tucking the white feather into the pack in such a way that it stood up proudly, like a little flag, Ilona slipped out of Hosni's room and went to find Canisp.

* * *

She eventually found her outside in the courtyard, lounging in human form but with a wolf's easy confidence in the shade of the veranda that marked the entrance to the palace soldiers' training grounds. It was a slight shock to find Canisp back in her old Narnian hunting gear; she looked much more natural and relaxed this way. She spotted Ilona quickly and waved her over, a strangely teasing smile pulling at her lips. "I'd been wondering when you'd turn up," she told her.

"Forgive me," Ilona replied. "It took longer than I expected."

Canisp waved her apology off carelessly. "Not a problem." Suddenly, some of the excitement seemed to drain from her eyes. "Are you tired? You've been running the city all day..."

Ilona laughed. "Are you kidding?" she said, and Orion grinned at the phrasing. Clearly he was a bad influence. "That was nothing."

The queer anticipation returned to Canisp's eyes. "Good." Handing the girl a cup of water, she said, "Drink." Ilona sipped some water obediently, and Canisp continued, "Seeing as you apparently don't trust me enough to realize that I don't intend to run for it the moment you take your eyes off me…" She winked, taking the sting out of her words. "I've decided that I should start making good on my promises. And I believe that before we…" She coughed. "Before we were _invited_ to the palace, I promised to teach you to use one of _these."_

At these words, she reached inside the strange padded vest she was wearing and drew out a fabric-wrapped bundle from an inner pocket. Pulling off the leather tie with a flourish, she let the fabric fall open to reveal the shining dagger within. It was a gorgeous weapon; though no match for dwarf-work, it was nevertheless an example of Calormene workmanship at its finest. The blade was bright silver, with a gold inlaid design of a flickering flame, a golden dragon curled around the hilt. Nor was it intended as merely a piece of artwork; the blade was as visibly deadly as the beast that had inspired its design.

"Obviously," said Canisp as Ilona took the flashing dagger tentatively in her hand, "We can't start practicing with sharpened knives, we'd cut each other to pieces. It'll be training weapons only until you know what you're doing."

Ilona nodded mutely, wrapping the knife back up. Canisp took it from her and handed it up to Orion, who gripped the parcel in his talons. "What are you planning, Canisp?" he asked shrewdly, seeming to recognize the glint in her eyes.

Canisp had wrapped an arm casually around Ilona's shoulders; now her eyes flashed, and she shoved the girl into the training yard. Tossing her a wooden knife, she said in a low, excited growl, "Have at you, then!"

**A/N:** Fun fact: in the early, early Dark Ages of planning _Vesta_, Ilona didn't exist. Think about that. _She didn't exist._ I have no idea what that plot would even have been like. Can you imagine this story without Ilona in it?! WHAT WAS I EVEN THINKING.


	13. Stifled

**Chapter 13-Stifled**

"What?" Ilona yelped, but Canisp had already whipped a wooden knife of her own out from under a bench and begun to pace around her new apprentice. Ilona looked nothing short of petrified at the sudden turn of events, keeping her eyes nervously on Canisp as the changeling circled, golden eyes intense and focused, feeling her weaknesses. Ilona thought that this must be what it felt like to be stalked by a wolf.

"Keep your guard up!" called Orion helpfully from the sidelines.

Ilona looked over at him, and in her moment of distraction Canisp lunged. Half a second later, Ilona was doubled over, clutching her stomach and wheezing. Canisp stood exactly where she had begun, teeth bared and panting slightly out of wild excitement. It was the lupine style of fighting; leap in, strike, leap away. Orion clearly couldn't help but feel it was unfair to spring on an untrained human girl.

"By the Lion, Canisp!" he called, wincing. "Are you _trying_ to kill her?" Judging by Ilona's expression, she was wondering the same thing.

"Of course not," Canisp said, more to Ilona than Orion. "But you can't turn away from the enemy for a minute. Keep your mind focused on the dangers and be ready to _move_." Ilona nodded, still rubbing her abdomen.

"Ow," she muttered, and Canisp struck again with a vicious snarl. This time it was as a wolf, rushing in faster than an unfamiliar human body could move. With a single sweep of powerful wings, all four paws caught Ilona full in the chest and kicked off, sending her flying. The practice knife spun out of her hand and the impact beat the last of the oxygen from her lungs. The blow was almost cruel; Ilona collapsed instantly, crashing to her side with eyes and mouth wide with shock as she tried desperately to suck air into her lungs. With all the efficiency of a born hunter, Canisp swept her wing again, tossing dust into Ilona's face. She choked and squeezed her eyes shut, still struggling to breathe, and the changeling moved in again. Her forepaws on Ilona's shoulders were more than enough to throw her onto her back, and when Ilona felt Canisp's teeth against her throat she finally froze.

It might have been an image from the wall of a temple. In the center of a sun-baked training arena, a white wolf stood, perfectly still; pinned beneath her, Ilona gasped and heaved, fighting for oxygen and coughing up sand as tears forced their way past tightly-squeezed lids, trying to expel the dust Canisp had flung into them.

"Prey," Canisp growled against her throat.

Ilona finally managed to fill her lungs properly. "I'm sorry," she wheezed. A hand came up and shoved reflexively against Canisp's muzzle. The Wolf caught the hand between her teeth, biting down just hard enough to bruise, and Ilona gave up on that approach. Her free hand clutched her throat as her breathing slowly returned to normal.

"You can be as sorry as you like," Canisp countered, dropping Ilona's hand. "You're still dead. If you can't fight back, you run. If you can't run, you fight back. If you can't do either, you're prey." Her voice had been detached, almost cold, but now her eyes softened and she said more gently, "That's a lesson you have to learn _now_ if you want to survive. Otherwise you'll end up blindsided by something a lot less friendly."

"Well," Ilona said, blinking the last of the dust from tearstained eyes, "I think I'll remember it."

Canisp blinked reassuringly and touched her muzzle to Ilona's forehead. "You will." She moved back, letting Ilona sit up. "If I had less respect for you, Ilona, I wouldn't have done it. But you're not a pup; I know you can handle this."

"She feels more pain than you do," said Orion, still worried. "She may not be a pup, but you have to remember that she's not a _Wolf,_ either, Canisp."

"She'll be all right," Canisp assured him. Shifting to human form, she stood and offered the Ilona a hand up. "She's got a Narnian heart, I can tell." Canisp didn't say it, but she felt a flicker of doubt herself as Ilona gratefully took her hand and pulled herself up. The girl was loyal and brave, but at the same time, she was so gentle…maybe it was a mistake to ask so much of her, to try to mold her into a warrior.

Suddenly, the changeling's thoughts were interrupted by a sharp jab in the ribs. She gave a grunt of pain. Looking down, she found the dull blade of Ilona's training knife pressed hard between two ribs in what would have been a fatal stab had she been armed with a real dagger. Ilona's expression was carefully neutral, but she couldn't hide the amusement dancing behind her dark eyes.

Orion gave a low whistle. "She's going to be _lethal."_

Canisp, equally impressed, felt a dangerous grin spread slowly across her face.

She stepped back into a deceptively casual ready position. "Let's try again," she said, golden eyes flashing. "And this time, _you_ attack _me."_

* * *

Ilona's training continued over the next few months, and Orion grew more and more impressed with both of them. Canisp, despite her own lack of formal training, was a talented teacher, and Ilona a uniquely willing student; but most of Orion's respect stemmed from the fact that they were both still alive after the first lesson. For all that Canisp was a fiercely loving creature who would have died for Ilona outside the arena, her training was nothing short of brutal.

It was a stark reminder that whatever form she might take at times, Canisp was far from human. Her first blow had set the precedent; when they sparred, she struck hard and fast, took advantage of openings when she saw them, and never allowed Ilona to land a blow that could have been blocked. At first glance it seemed heartless, but for once it was a technique Orion completely understood. He had recognized the look on Canisp's face from the beginning—it reminded him of a mother Eagle forcing her fledglings from the nest. Ilona might have been a fledgling still, but there was something inside her that was ready to fly; she just needed someone to _make_ her. And for all that Canisp had no formal training to use as a guide, there were few who knew better how to survive against a myriad of opponents; just like any mother Wolf, she was teaching her young pup everything she knew in the only way she knew how.

Because, of course, there was a flip side to their training. The ruthless sparring sessions were far from the only aspect of Canisp's lessons. She spent most of their time being encouraging and supportive as she coached Ilona on speed and footwork and every dirty trick in the book, and was always willing to repeat a technique as many times as was necessary for Ilona to master it. The young slave girl was quickly becoming a full-fledged Narnian warrior.

Hosni was among the first spectators inevitably drawn to these regular shows. Being part of their pack, Canisp didn't mind his presence in the slightest. Indeed, she encouraged it, several times inviting him to join them. If she had been given free rein Hosni might well have been trained just as thoroughly as Ilona; however, unlike Ilona, Hosni did not 'belong' to her, and most of the free time he could snatch was spent sneaking in and out of the stables to be with Vesta.

One afternoon, Canisp and Ilona got in a rather violent argument; thankfully, it was not with each other. For a moment it had almost seemed as if Hosni was going to join them of his own free will; the unforeseen advancement in his confidence was nearly cut off by one of the young Tarkaans who had always been accustomed to tormenting the boy in question. It was Ristar, as luck would have it; the arrogant young Tarkaan's son who had beaten Hosni so badly that he prompted the boy's mother to plead her case to Rabadash.

The Tarkaan-to-be had been walking past the training ground when he spotted his old bullying target near the entrance, attention completely captured by the young Calormene girl in the center. She was wearing a blindfold, absently twirling a pair of wooden knives while Canisp circled, and calling out the wolf's position at regular commands from Orion. An incorrect answer was met with a rush; a rush that wasn't countered would lead to a full skirmish. Hosni was leaning on the fence, trying to determine the nature of the exercise, and Ristar had foolishly decided that it would be amusing to come up behind Hosni and throw him bodily over the railing.

By the end of the ensuing discussion, Ristar had an impressive collection of vicious bruises, a nasty gash near his eye from Orion, and a broken nose courtesy of Ilona, who had defied both logic and, in Orion's opinion, the laws of physics by throwing the wooden practice knife halfway across the arena, blindfolded, and sending it hilt-first into Ristar's face. Canisp had even been polite enough to leave him a parting gift in the form of a firm bite in a sensitive region. There was no permanent damage, but Ristar would find sitting very painful for the next few days and it would be quite some time before he was able to ride a horse. (This was probably just as well; Vesta had seen the whole episode from the adjacent stable yard, and Canisp didn't know whether to chuckle or wince at the thought of what might have befallen Ristar were he to step foot in the stable.)

Hosni hadn't been touched.

This excitement had prompted the crowds to start showing up. They made both Ilona and Canisp singularly uncomfortable, and the training might have stopped altogether if Hosni hadn't stepped in. Ever since the first of the food packages had been left in his room, he had become more comfortable with Ilona, and then Canisp by proxy. He could hardly help but notice how tense they had become ever since their private training sessions had become a spectator sport, and one day he went so far as to flag down Ilona as she left the training arena. He had sketched out a rough map, and by means of hand signals and more sketches, had managed to convey his message and been rewarded with a tight hug and a grateful kiss on the cheek, which left him stunned for several minutes.

From that day on, Canisp and Ilona unapologetically used the more secluded training arena usually reserved for the royal family. The only onlookers now were Hosni and Orion, and that was exactly the way they wanted it.

Before long, however, even these training sessions became few and far between. Canisp was unable to keep up their previous schedule, for the simple reason that Calormen was a desert country. When they had arrived, it had been spring, and while the weather had been warm it wasn't a problem. With summer in full swing, however, a Far Northern wolf had no place being anywhere near the country, even if they were in human form. She had tried, certainly, but in the end it was Ilona who said that it was too much.

Canisp, whose sudden bout of dizziness and subsequent collapse had prompted the statement, was forced to agree.

Now, of course, there were huge spaces of time left open to them that had been previously filled. Remembering another promise she had made, Canisp decided to use this time to teach Ilona to read. This was something that didn't come quite as naturally to Canisp as swordplay, but Ilona appreciated the effort, and with Orion's help she was making progress.

Unfortunately, it was still hot.

Very, very hot.

Canisp yawned widely, her sharp canines flashing in the sunlight she was trying so hard to avoid. As their bedroom faced east, it was flooded with treacherous sun during the hottest part of the day. Even Ilona and Hosni, native Calormenes both of them, found it unbearable, so they had retreated to the mercifully cool library.

Ilona was curled up in a corner, amid the pillows they had piled there when a comfortable reading chair was nowhere to be found. There was a stack of books beside her, and she was flipping randomly though a volume of Calormene maxims. Orion, who had been reading over her shoulder as she struggled through the dull verses, was dozing off on his perch, and Canisp was in wolf form, lying on a west-facing window seat and trying in vain to catch some form of cool breeze. Hosni was off somewhere doing something, the uncertainty of which normally would have made Canisp anxious. Today, however, she could feel only a dim sense of disquiet through the lethargy. All three in the library were in danger of falling asleep from a combination of heat and boredom.

Ilona looked up when Canisp yawned. The white wolf's thick fur was dangerously unsuited to this weather, but Canisp stubbornly preferred it to her human form. Orion had explained to Ilona that it was a matter of instinct for Canisp; when something was going wrong, she felt safer in her more familiar wolf form. Apparently, the heat was distressing her.

Ilona had expressed the opinion that perhaps the sun had fried her mistress' brain, and Orion had conceded that it might be a factor as well. Canisp had overheard him and smacked him with a wing.

"Would you like some more water, my lady?" Ilona asked, glancing at Canisp's empty bowl. The changeling had spent the entire summer season panting heavily, and letting her grow dehydrated could be deadly. Canisp shook her head at the offer; ignoring her, Ilona glanced over at a nearby house slave. The young man bowed politely and hurried off to fetch more water, and Ilona shifted uncomfortably. Mere months ago she would have given almost anything to be seen as a superior slave-girl in the Tisroc's household, and the idea of having underlings bowing to her whim was a dream hardly to be imagined; now the thought of giving orders to anyone made her feel ill.

Canisp rolled lazily onto her side, yawning again. "I wonder if there's a potion that can cool you down," she mused, thinking of Govinia's warming concoction. "I've never heard of one, but then that's the last thing anyone in Narnia wanted when I was there."

Ilona looked thoughtful. "Well, there are potions to lower fevers," she said finally, "But that's all I can think of, and I doubt they'd be of any help." Indicating the shelves around them, she said, "Maybe there's a book of potions?"

Canisp lifted her head and looked around, then dropped it back to the red-silk cushion. "Nah," she muttered. "I'd have to get up."

Ilona smiled faintly and looked back at her book. She frowned, finger resting on a line. "My lady, what does in… in-dig…" she craned her head back and looked up at Orion. "Do you know what this word is?" she asked respectfully. She was answered by a faint snore.

"Ori!" Canisp called loudly.

Orion jumped. "Pineapples!" he screeched.

"Ice-cold pineapples," Canisp agreed dreamily. "With cool water and chilled pastries…"

Ilona gave a small cough.

"Oh," said Orion, looking down. "Sorry. What'd you say?"

Ilona pointed at the page. Orion peered at it and said, "Indigence."

Ilona nodded. "Thank you." To Canisp, she said politely, "What does 'indigence' mean?"

Canisp gave another yawn, eyes drifting closed. "No idea."

"Maybe it's like indigestion," Orion suggested.

Ilona looked extremely confused. "In that case…Those who ask kw… _questions_ that do not concern them are steering the ship of indigestion toward the rocks of foaly?"

"Folly," Orion corrected her. "Which doesn't make any sense, either."

Canisp cracked one eye open and looked at Ilona. "What in Aslan's name are you reading?"

Ilona sighed and tossed the book to the floor, rubbing her eyes. "I don't know," she moaned, "But it hurts my head."

"Sorry," Canisp mumbled, letting her eyes close again. "I thought a book of phrases might be good practice."

Orion snorted, looking at the leather-bound volume in distaste. "What a load of rubbish," he said. "She should read something Narnian; at least a Narnian writer would use words normal people understand. No offense," he added.

Ilona leaned back against the pillows and closed her eyes tiredly. "None taken."

Outside, the trees in the Tisroc's garden rustled in a breeze, and Canisp raised her head hopefully. A wall of hot air from the desert rolled into the room, and the Narnians groaned.

"There must be some way to keep cool," Canisp said with a note of desperation in her voice. She raised a wing distractedly and fanned her pack; it raised a lot of dust, ruffled Ilona's hair badly, and sent Orion into a coughing fit, but did very little for the heat.

When the dust settled, Ilona brushed her sweat-slicked hair back into place with her fingers, suggesting, "There's the river."

Canisp and Orion exchanged a look.

"We…probably should have thought of that before, shouldn't we?" he said finally.

Ilona sat up and crossed her legs, wearing the businesslike expression that accompanied having a plan. "I don't think so," she said. "I doubt the Tisroc wants you to be thinking about the fact that you _can_ leave the Palace. He wants you where he can see you. You're surrounded by people doing everything they can to make sure you never want to leave. But if you _want_ to go out, they won't dare stop you. There's a boat door that the palace people use to access the river."

Another block of hot air rolled through the open window, and Canisp made an executive decision. "Do you know how to get there?" she asked.

Ilona smiled. "No," she said, bringing her hand up to her throat. There was a plain string necklace there, a slim braid that Canisp hadn't noticed before. "But I know someone who will."

**A/N: **Allow me to reiterate: _There was a time when Ilona did not exist._


	14. Change

**Chapter 14-Change**

Canisp gave a whimper of delight as she waded down the stone steps and into the blessedly, mercifully cool river. The current eddied around her forelegs, lapping temptingly at her underbelly, and she bounded happily into deeper water, dunking her head under and using her huge wings to swirl up miniature whirlpools that snatched minnows up and spun them around helplessly. Orion took off from Ilona's shoulder and dove into the center of the river like an osprey. Canisp almost called to him to catch some fish for dinner, before remembering that they no longer needed to catch their own prey.

That realization disturbed her on a very deep level. She was a Wolf who didn't hunt. Not couldn't—_didn't_.

Ilona's cheerful voice brought Canisp back from her troubling thoughts. "May I join you, my lady?" she called.

Canisp paddled back toward her. "Of course!" she said. "Plenty of water, isn't there?"

Ilona brightened and pulled a scarlet ribbon out of her pocket. "One moment," she said, pulling her dark hair into a hasty ponytail. She paused to remove the necklace she wore, and Canisp's ears pricked. In the stuffy library, Ilona's new accessory had seemed of little importance, but now that the water had leeched off some of the mind-numbing heat, Canisp was curious.

Seeing her interest, Ilona motioned the dripping wolf closer and held out the necklace. It was as Canisp had seen; a plain piece made of tightly-braided tan twine. However, she saw now that the unassuming band was merely intended to support the flat black stone hanging at the end. She hadn't noticed it before; it had been tucked inside Ilona's tunic. A hole was bored rather crudely through the top, and etched into the surface of the stone was the painstakingly intricate image of a winged wolf. Wordlessly, Ilona flipped the pendant to reveal the carved image of Orion, impressively accurate.

"My family," Ilona said softly. "He gave it to me for my birthday." There was no need to clarify who _he_ was; Hosni's touch was clear in every score mark. Ilona turned and smiled at the boy in question, their guide, who was standing unobtrusively beside the door. He acknowledged her with a nod and a bashful smile before refocusing his gaze politely over the river.

"It's your birthday?" Orion asked, fluttering from the shallows onto a dry stone step.

Ilona looked puzzled. "No," she said, "My birthday was yesterday. Why?"

"You didn't tell us!" Canisp exclaimed.

"I didn't think to," answered Ilona, looking quite taken aback.

"Well, happy birthday then," Canisp said. A toothy grin spread along her muzzle. "And since we can't have you forgetting to tell us things like that in future…"

"Oh, no," muttered Orion.

Ilona looked at him. "What's wro-"

Canisp pounced. With a low bark of laughter, she crouched and flung herself at Ilona's legs. Ilona toppled over, falling heavily across Canisp's back and sending both of them into the river with a mighty splash.

Picking herself back up, Canisp let her pink tongue loll out the side of her mouth, tipping Orion a playful wink. The Eagle's always-ready laughter was ringing easily over the water. Even Hosni, normally so grave, was fighting a losing battle to maintain the formal demeanor of a slave on duty. Ilona pulled herself out of the water, squeezing the water from her ponytail, and looked him over. Smirking, she darted forward and snatched the stone-colored cap from his head. Giving up, Hosni finally let himself lose his innate formality, clutching his stomach and shaking with silent laughter. Ilona gave a short "Ha!" of triumph, scooping water into Hosni's cap and tossing it at him. He gasped in over-exaggerated offense and jumped at her. She leaped back, tripped over an uneven patch of riverbed, and tumbled into the water. Hosni took the opportunity to grab at his cap, but Ilona was too quick for him and pushed off from the bank, sparkling eyes daring him to follow her.

It was shaping up into another all-out water war. Canisp had just stretched out a wing to splash Hosni as he swam after Ilona when Orion, perched on top of the palace wall, gave a sharp warning cry.

"_Kee! Kee!_"

Canisp froze, instinctively raising a wing to guard her head. Talking Beasts often use their mute cousins' vernacular in situations of danger or extreme emotion; for Orion, easily the most eloquent of the group, to revert to his instinctive call was not something to be dismissed lightly.

The object of Orion's alarm quickly became clear. A well-dressed herald, walking backward, appeared in the boat door. Canisp felt her hackles raise slightly. This human meant trouble.

If the herald noticed the tension in the group, he gave no indication of it. Bowing deeply, he recited, "Announcing the Most Noble And Ever-Living Tisroc, Rabadash the Peacemaker, whose reign must and shall be never-ending by favor of Tash, to Their Most High Angels of Tash, Canisp and Orion changelings of those names."

The herald hesitated for a split second, glancing at Ilona and Hosni. Both were soaked to the skin. Hosni looked petrified, but at the same time was trying to reign in his snickers. Ilona's arms were crossed tightly across her chest, as she seemed to have just remembered that she had been wearing Canisp's white tunic when she dove into the river. Hosni, whose expression suggested he was biting his tongue to try to regain control, shrugged off his light brown vest and pulled it around Ilona's shoulders, and she laughed.

"…And company," the herald finished hastily before bowing out of the doorway.

His place was filled by the Tisroc. Canisp felt another wave of disdain for Calormene fashion at the sight of him. Long-sleeved wine-red velvet in this weather? Rabadash the Ridiculous was aptly named.

She wasn't at all surprised to see the sheen of sweat on Rabadash's face, nor that he visibly swallowed to see the Narnians chest-deep in the deliciously cool river.

"Can we help you?" Orion asked politely. Canisp could hear the mocking amusement in his voice, but she suspected that was only because she knew him so well.

Seemingly remembering himself, Rabadash turned to Canisp. "I have come with a formal request from your humble servant, O noble servant of Tash and delight of my eyes," he said, bowing slightly from the waist. Canisp braced herself for an onslaught of meaningless honorifics.

She was not disappointed. Through the cloud of insincere flattery and flowery, pedantic phrases it was all but impossible to tell what he was saying. Canisp suppressed a snarl of frustration; Narnians are a clear-thinking, honest race, and Free Wolves share a dislike for mincing words. If Canisp had learned anything from Calormen, it was that nothing made her edgier than convoluted politics.

When Rabadash had finished his speech, he looked at Canisp with cool expectation. It was clear that whatever he called it, his "formal request" was a command. Canisp had no choice but to agree to it.

Now if only she knew what she was agreeing _to_…

Once again, Orion came to her rescue. Seeing Canisp's confusion, he said to Rabadash, "So… you'd like to join us for dinner?"

Canisp glanced at the Eagle incredulously, as if to say _all that just to ask us to dinner?_ Orion caught the look and rolled his eyes ever so slightly, agreeing with the sentiment.

Rabadash looked mildly irritated at Orion's paraphrasing, but bowed again and said, "Wise was the poet who said 'Swords and spear can be kept off with shields, but the Eye of Wisdom pierces through every defense'. How truly you speak, my lord. The greatest Tarkaans of the land gather tonight. Should you condescend to dine with us, the darkest trenches of the Eastern Ocean would be as nothing to the depth of our gratitude and humility."

Canisp swallowed an exasperated sigh. She wanted nothing more than to decline, or else respond with a simple 'sure, what time?' All their lives, however, depended on her and Orion playing their parts. "It will be our pleasure, oh most long…Ah, well-spoken Tisroc," she corrected herself hastily. "When will we be expected?"

Rabadash looked satisfied. "If you and your exalted servant will accompany me now, our slaves will help you prepare."

Reluctantly, Canisp climbed the stone stairs out of the river. As she passed Rabadash, she paused, then shook herself vigorously, sending sheets of water scattering from her fur. Rabadash leaped away, a half-formed curse almost escaping his lips before it was bitten back. Orion snickered softly. From their respectful positions behind Canisp, the changeling heard Hosni choke and Ilona stifle a giggle, but she didn't share in their mirth.

There is an old Narnian saying that goes, "Just when you get comfortable, the forest starts to burn." Canisp thought of it now, and her fur prickled.

She couldn't help but feel her pack had gotten too comfortable.


	15. Twist

**Chapter 15-Twist**

"There," the slave breathed, unable to keep the relief from her voice. Indicating the polished mirror behind Canisp, she said, "Do you approve, O my mistress?"

Canisp turned, and her blood ran cold.

She looked…stunning, really, as if she had come down out of the stars. After a long and gruesome battle, the Tisroc's slaves (Ilona and Orion were being tended to separately, which did nothing for Canisp's nerves) had finally managed to rid Canisp of every last knot and what looked like enough loose hair to create a second Canisp. It had left her fur smooth and light, almost shimmering. An intricate silver chain, studded with twinkling diamonds, sparkled around her neck, and her claws had been brushed with some kind of silvery paint. Even her wings and ears had been tipped in silver ink, giving her an ethereal quality that, at first, she had rather liked.

But she didn't look like a Wolf, or even a wolf. Canisp could see none of the fierce Narnian warrior she had taken pride in, only a soft, delicate creature that woke nothing but scorn. There was no spark of confidence in her eyes, no flash of strength. The fire of an Alpha's pride, the defiance that let a Wolf hold their heads high and sleep soundly, was dying. Just as she had realized earlier that day in the river, she was becoming tame.

* * *

Needless to say, it was not a happy Canisp who paced in front of the door to the banquet room that evening. Their little antechamber was luxurious, she supposed, just like everything else in this ridiculous place, but she couldn't care less for the enameled walls and silken furniture, the silver fountain in the corner. Orion, perched on the back of a couch, was stiff and silent as he watched her wear a path in the floor. He was tapping out a rapid pattern with a single restless talon; every so often he would visibly twitch, and Canisp knew that he too felt the unbearable need to fly, escape, to be somewhere, _anywhere_, but here.

Orion had been decorated by a team of slaves as well, though Canisp privately thought it looked good on him; rather than making him look peaceful and yielding, the brass medallion on his chest, bearing the embossed image of Tash and held in place by a red-silk loop over his head and another under his wings, emphasized his natural fierceness; there were intricate, bold-looking designs painted on his wings and along his head and neck in bright golden dye, and the flashing metallic-gold paint on his talons made them look even sharper and deadlier than usual.

_Those chauvinistic little-_

The sound of hurried footsteps outside caused Canisp to whirl around, planting her forepaws and flaring her wings, a vicious snarl echoing off the marble walls.

The footsteps stopped, then resumed more cautiously. Canisp's low warning growl cut off abruptly as Ilona edged through the door, looking slightly terrified.

"Stay where you…! Oh," said Canisp, settling stiffly out of her fighting stance. "Where have you been?"

Ilona sat down on the edge of Orion's couch. "I've been trying to find out what's going on," she explained. "But nobody's quite sure. Not even the cooks, and they know _everything._"

Orion cleared his throat, frowning at Ilona and jerking his head toward Canisp. "Is this really necessary?" he snapped furiously. "Aren't we nervous enough already?"

Ilona drew back as if she'd been slapped, true pain in her eyes. Realizing he'd gone too far, the Eagle sighed.

"Sorry," he murmured, hopping forward and bumping his head against her shoulder in apology. "We're all a bit on edge."

The admission seemed to diffuse some of the tension in the air. Canisp, letting her hackles relax and folding her wings, trotted forward and nudged Ilona's leg. "Did you find out _anything?"_ she asked. "Anything at all?"

"Only that the Tisroc is going to make some sort of announcement," Ilona said. "Something important."

Canisp gave a frustrated growl and returned to pacing. "That could be anything," she snarled under her breath. "A war, a raid, a massacre-"

"-a festival," Ilona interjected.

Canisp shot her an irritated look, but paused when she saw that the girl was serious. "A festival?" she said skeptically.

Ilona nodded, and Canisp saw the faintest hint of pity in her eyes. "I think you may be blowing this out of proportion, my lady," she said. "The Harvest Festival of Tash is coming up. It's our biggest holiday, and the Tisroc always makes an appearance. He's most likely just announcing plans; it will be even more spectacular this year, with a… or rather, with _two_ changelings present." Orion gave a small chuckle, and she winked at him. "But if I'm wrong…" Ilona paused, twitching back a fold of her silver-trimmed white dress to reveal the coiled dragon on the hilt of her dagger. "If I'm wrong, you're my Alpha, and you won't fight alone."

* * *

The banquet was nothing like a Narnian feast; those were accompanied by music and laughter, cheerful fires blazing in winter and windows thrown open to the moon in summer. The Tisroc, however, seemed to prefer carefully rehearsed small talk to easy conversation, and riches to friendliness. This would not be an evening for enjoyment, but a battle of wills.

Once again, Canisp felt she owed Ilona, if not her life, then her sanity. It was both humbling and invigorating that a Calormene slave could garner a Narnian's fierce courage when even a Narnian freedom fighter had let it fade. Until she heard it from Ilona, Canisp hadn't realized how starved she was for the purity and boldness of her homeland.

Orion cleared his throat, just loud enough for Canisp to hear. She was lying on the red-silk cushion of what was obviously a custom-made pedestal. The golden throne had the appearance of Tash, a vulture-headed beast with six arms. Four of these arms supported the cushion, and one held a bejeweled perch for Orion. He had ignored this, however, preferring to situate himself regally between Canisp's forelegs as if he sat between the paws of a Sphinx.

"Look who it is," he muttered. Canisp looked questioningly at him, bolting down the last of the sweet ham she had been nursing. Following the Eagle's line of sight, she found an unpleasantly familiar face; the cruel-faced Tarkaan they had rescued Ilona from was staring at them incredulously.

Nudging Ilona surreptitiously with a wing, Canisp muttered, "Look at that; your Tarkaan friend is watching you."

Ilona glanced up and saw him. Her normally open, friendly face hardened for an instant before she smirked, giving the Tarkaan a mocking wink.

He did not seem to appreciate this.

"Honored Tarkaans."

Rabadash paused, looking slowly around the room to make certain that he had undivided attention.

"Since the year in which I began my exultant and never-ending rule," he began, "The Palace is wealthy, our subjects are content, and the country has prospered. All this is due to my wise and benevolent reign."

"Complimentary of himself, isn't he?" muttered Orion, picking spiced trout out of his beak with one talon. Canisp laughed loudly, choked trying to hold back the laugh, and with some difficulty managed to pass the odd sound off as a bark of approval.

"Sorry," Orion whispered.

Rabadash, who hadn't heard the exchange, inclined his head to Canisp. His eyes glinted as he continued, "As all here have seen, Tash the inexorable, the irresistible, has chosen to send this indication of the mighty power of that approval which mortal men would die happily to gain. He has made a gift to me of two of his angels, an honor never before bestowed upon any Tisroc. I believe that this is a sign. We stand on the brink of an era of untold glory for the Calormene Empire!"

The Tarkaans applauded; Rabadash let this go on for a few moments before he raised his hand for silence. When he spoke again, there was a new fire in his voice.

"Ever since my honored father rose to the throne of the Tisroc, Calormen has flashed like a golden coin among dull copper. My father saw only this, and was content." Growing steadily louder, Rabadash said, "But I am not my father, only seeing that which serves my taste! I see all, and it is this wisdom and piercing eye which have earned me the blessing of Tash!"

It took all of Canisp's self-control not to roll her eyes.

"I tell you!" Rabadash cried. "I say that my food has no flavor and the sun is dark in my eyes because every day I know that the accursed barbarians of the North cast a dark shadow over the brilliance of our land, that the Northern dogs keep our glorious nation from claiming its rightful dominion!"

At the other end of the table, the Narnians went very still.

Rabadash didn't notice this; a roar of approval had risen from the Tarkaans, and the Tisroc was on his feet now. "But what demon can hope to fight a changeling?" he shrieked, looking slightly mad. "What is petty barbarian sorcery against the might of Tash the irresistible, the inexorable, he who kills with a glance?" Leaping onto his throne, he cried above the din, "Lightning in the form of scorpions shall rain down upon the demons! Fire and water will obliterate our enemies, and the rivers will run red with their blood for a thousand years!"

"No," breathed Canisp, so softly even Orion couldn't hear her. "Don't say it, please don't say-"

"_Narnia!_" Rabadash shouted. "Beware! The bolt of Tash falls from above!"

**A/N:** ...What, you guys expect me to write about Rabadash and _not_ have that line?


	16. Hold

**Chapter 16-Hold**

"That settles it," Canisp said tersely the instant Ilona had bolted the door behind them. The white wolf jumped onto the window seat and grasped the silk rope in her teeth, drawing the curtains closed so they couldn't be seen from the courtyard. She turned and sat down on the cushion, hackles bristling with tension. "This has gone too far."

"It's my fault. I brought us here," Ilona said desperately. "I'm so sorry, my lady, if I'd had any idea…!"

Canisp flicked an ear as if bitten by a flea. "It's not your fault," she said impatiently. "You didn't know. Nobody could have guessed this. What could you have done, anyway? Any other decision would have gotten us all killed."

Ilona was unconvinced. "I should have done _something_. I knew what Rabadash is like."

"It doesn't matter," said Orion fluttering from Ilona's shoulder to one of his golden perches. "Thinking about what we should have done won't help us. The question is, what are we going to do _now?_"

Canisp's eyes flashed as she turned to the Eagle. "That's obvious," she said. "We're leaving. Now. Tonight. By this time tomorrow we can be in Narnia."

A charged silence followed the announcement. After a moment, it was broken by the last sound anyone had expected.

Laughter.

It was Orion, naturally. His delighted, trilling laugh filled the room like sunshine, and Ilona saw the edges of Canisp's muzzle twitch automatically at the sound. "Thank Aslan!" the Eagle cried. "I thought you'd never say it!"

His enthusiasm seemed to relax Canisp instantly. She gave a slow smile, shedding her stiff posture in favor of lying down comfortably on her cushion. "It will be nice, won't it? Being back?"

Orion beat his wings happily. "High summer," he sighed. "The thermals, the glades bursting with prey, all the flowers in bloom, fledglings testing their wings…"

Canisp gave a contented sigh, watching Orion with a tender wistfulness about her. "Oh, _Ori,_" she murmured, and Ilona was shocked to hear her voice break. "The moonlight on the Great River, wolf song on the mountains, the Birds all trying to out-sing each other…the Midsummer Festival, all the Fauns playing?"

"And the food!" Orion exclaimed with a grin. Canisp gave a low, barking laugh. Encouraged, Orion flapped his wings in a flurry of excitement. "A fig for Calormene finery!" he exclaimed. "Give me the Narnian sky any day, where an honest Bird can breathe! Narnia and the North!" Canisp raised her head and gave a howl of support.

Throughout all of this, Ilona had been perched on the edge of the bed, growing steadily more uncomfortable. At this point, she cleared her throat softly and offered, "It… sounds lovely, my lady."

Canisp frowned slightly at the girl's hesitation. "You'll come with us, won't you?" she asked. Sadness entering her voice, she said, "I _know_ you would like Narnia, Ilona, and I want you to stay with us, but…I know this is your home, and-"

"I will go wherever you go, as long as you'll have me," Ilona said firmly, no hesitation this time. "But please, my lady, you're not thinking. We can't _possibly_ leave tonight!"

Canisp shuffled her wings, unperturbed. "It's sudden, I know," she said, "but if we're going to leave without being stopped, this is the best night for it. Nobody will expect it. Will they?" she asked, suddenly focused.

Ilona was forced to admit that they wouldn't. Her sense of disquiet sharpening, she nevertheless asked, "Do you have a plan, my lady?"

Canisp sat up again. "Well," she said seeming suddenly unsure of herself. "It would be easy for the three of us to escape, but we can't leave Hosni and Vesta behind."

Orion cocked his head. "Sneaking a horse out of a place like this is all but impossible," he remarked.

Canisp inclined her head. "So we need an excuse to walk out with Vesta and Hosni, and we need to know we won't be followed."

After a short pause, Orion turned to Ilona. "Any ideas?" he asked brightly.

Normally, this would have made Ilona laugh, but tonight it just twisted something in her gut. She didn't even know what was wrong; she just knew that every word she spoke felt as if she was betraying something deep within her heart. Taking a deep breath and trying to ignore the unexplained guilt, she dutifully began to lay out her plan. "Send for Vesta from the stables, my lady, and have the grooms use all the most valuable tack," she said. "And call Hosni up from the slaves' quarters with a torch. When you meet the guards, tell them about Rabadash's plan." Glancing up at Canisp, she cautioned her, "You'll have to act like you're excited about it; I'll tell you what to say."

Canisp's ears drooped. "Ilona," she asked worriedly, "You _are_ coming with us, aren't you?"

Ilona flashed her a quick, reassuring smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Of course, my lady. I'm getting there, but not yet. Tell the guards that you have to visit the great Temple to consult with Tash, to get his orders for how to… oh… assist the Tisroc in his glorious conquest of the Northern dogs, or something like that, and Hosni is showing you the way. They'll let you through. If they offer you an escort, tell them that the rites are secret and can't be seen by mortals lest they be killed by the power of Tash. You could say that's why you left me behind; act like Hosni's expendable." She winced slightly at the thought. Hosni was so very sensitive, such a thing could all but break his heart.

"He won't hear what we're saying," Orion consoled her, reading her worry on her face. "And he'll know the truth."

Ilona nodded distractedly. "I'll get Vesta's saddlebags and fill them with supplies, and fetch some waterskins. We'll meet at the Temple and then slip down to the docks and barter a passage to Narnia on a shipping barge or the like. If there isn't one, there's bound to be a shipment to the Lone Islands, and we can get to Narnia from there."

It was a sound plan, and Canisp was visibly pleased. "What would we do without you?" she asked Ilona, dropping down from the window seat and bumping her head affectionately against the girl's leg.

Ilona didn't answer, fiddling instead with a loose thread on her sleeve. The sick feeling in her stomach was solidifying into something recognizable as burning disappointment. "My lady," she asked finally, "Why are we doing this?"

Canisp looked up, startled. "Doing what?" she asked. "Ilona, you can't possibly expect us to go along with Rabadash!"

"I don't!" Ilona assured her hurriedly. "It's just…" The disappointment was back. "This gets _us_ to safety, but what about all the others? Rabadash is going to attack Narnia in full force, my lady, and instead of stopping him, we're running away?"

Canisp and Orion shared a long, meaningful look. Eventually the Eagle cleared his throat. "Ilona?" he said carefully, as if trying to figure out how to phrase something without hurting her feelings. "Why do you think we're running to Narnia?"

Ilona hesitated. "I'm not sure what you mean."

Canisp took a step back, gauging the distance from the floor to the bed. Apparently deciding against the leap, she turned and hopped back onto the window seat. "Weren't you listening at the banquet?" she said. "This whole invasion plan hinges on using us as mascots. If we're not here, Rabadash can't use us as an excuse."

Ilona shook her head. "Nobody in Calormen needs any excuse to take Narnia, my lady."

Orion spoke up. "But it will look bad. He's made a big show of how us being here means he has the approval of Tash. If we disappear right after he announces his plans, won't that mean he's _lost_ Tash's approval?"

"Ideally, yes," Ilona replied. "But you don't know the Tisroc. If you disappear, he won't let it stop him, not when he's got the Tarkaans whipped into a frenzy. He'll never have a chance like this again. He'll make something up, say that before you were recalled to Tash you gave him your blessing, or told him what to do, or something! It will be much, much worse if you leave, my lady, you _must_ believe me!" By now she was frantic. "As long as you're here, he has to abide by what you actually say, but if you're gone he'll put words in your mouth, pretend he's following orders you didn't actually give him, claim you said things you never would—you're giving him exactly what he wants!"

Orion's eyes were frighteningly intense as he looked silently at the panicked girl. After some time, he blinked and relaxed. "All right," he said simply. "What should we do?"

Ilona went weak with relief. After taking a few moments to collect her wits again, she said, "You have to make it clear to all of Calormen that any attack on Narnia is not only a bad idea, but a direct affront to Tash. You have to make sure that it's done in such a way that Rabadash won't be able to stop you from speaking without making himself look irreparably bad, and you have to do it in public. It will be centuries before any Tisroc even _thinks_ about attacking Narnia again."

Canisp nodded slowly. "I'm following…"

Ilona sat up straighter, encouraged. "The festival of Tash, my lady. It's in two weeks, and Rabadash will announce the invasion then. That's when you'll have your chance. We'll tell him you want to make a speech after his, to add the voice of Tash to his own. He'll be thrilled." She watched Canisp nervously, waiting for her response.

"So," said Orion again, also looking to the changeling for his cue. "We wait?"

Canisp was silent for some time. She turned her head, staring at the velvet curtains shrouding their window, and Ilona knew what she was really seeing. She was imagining flying, soaring, the wind under her wings in the cool night sky, the silver pinprick stars guiding her back to the laughing streams and dewdropped grass of her home.

"Yes," Canisp said finally, turning back to Ilona. Her old courage was back in her voice as she said, "We wait."

**A/N:** ...I'm not going to say it.

But there was a time when...


	17. Shatter

**Chapter 17-Shatter**

The night before the Harvest Festival, Ilona slipped down to the stables for the last time.

It was a familiar routine; the guards barely acknowledged her anymore, beyond a brief nod of respect, and the stable hands had even given her a key to a side door when they realized she was now so familiar with the lock she could pick it almost as fast as unlocking it properly. She knew there were safer, more practical places to meet Hosni, but even a casual bystander could see the bond he had with Vesta. Someone like Ilona, who knew them well, could feel like a tangible force their pain when separated, their relief when they met again. To keep them apart for even a day would be sacrilege.

Ilona slid carefully into the sleeping stable, bolting the door behind her. "Hosni?" she called softly. There was an amused snort from Vesta's stall, and Ilona made a face when she realized the futility of calling out to a deaf-mute.

It was just so easy to _forget_ that Hosni couldn't hear. He understood her so completely that the issue of language rarely came up. He held entire conversations with his eyes, dark brown and deeper than Ilona had ever thought possible. A slight frown, a half-raised eyebrow—these were his words. The spread of his fingers brushing absently over Vesta's silky neck or fiddling with a strand of Ilona's hair, the set of his shoulders, the quirk of his clever lips…they spoke volumes, more than any language could hope to express.

A shiver, barely perceptible and not at all unpleasant, ran under Ilona's skin when she thought of the way Hosni would watch things. Something about the look in his eyes made her certain that he took more from a scene than she ever could; there was some elusive quality that she just wasn't able to comprehend. And when he would turn that kind of look on _her…_a shy smile spread over the young woman's face as she trailed a hand absently over the wall, patting around in search of a lamp. With Hosni, the solemn focus of his gaze, the intensity of his utter concentration made every movement she made, no matter how small, feel weighted with meaning and importance. She had unconsciously begun to measure her steps, her breathing, even her heartbeat, acutely aware of every tiny action.

Finally, her wandering hand bumped into smooth glass. She felt along the sides, locating a smooth metal knob. She made to turn it, but at that moment heard muted footsteps from just behind her. She paused, smile widening. "Hosni," she murmured. Even if he couldn't hear her, the tiny shift in her posture, the loss of tension along her body would tell him she knew he was there. Lifting her hand again, she reached out to turn on the lamp.

Her fingertips had barely made contact with the cool bronze when a large, smooth hand covered hers and pulled it away.

Her lungs turned to water at the contact. Hosni was a slave; slight and gentle though he was, he was still accustomed to working, and his hands while small were rough. The hand now gripping her wrist had clearly never known a day's labor.

Before this realization could fully set in, Ilona felt a hard tug on her tunic; she was yanked around, dragged roughly against a broad, powerful body, that same strong hand over her mouth to muffle her cry of shock.

Ilona instinctively went for her knife, but her captor was faster. By the time she had reached it his free hand was already there; he twitched the dagger out of its sheath and sent it clattering to the floor, out of reach.

At the end of the hall, unseen, Vesta's head came up.

The instant Ilona had been disarmed, her attacker transferred his grip to her wrist, twisting it awkwardly behind her back. The hand covering her mouth vanished, only to fasten around her throat a moment later, cutting off her hasty cry for help.

"Save yourself suffering, girl, and do not try to fight," hissed a voice in her ear, a voice she had last heard calling out bids at an auction. "You know what I want from you, and I know that there's no one to whisk you away this time. She's up in her room without a care in the world." The grip around her throat tightened, and a hand trailed lazily up her side.

"Don't struggle, and I won't hurt you," purred the Tarkaan. "Resist…well, your Narnian demon won't save you tonight."

* * *

Hosni held his breath, pressing into the shadows at the base of the Palace wall. It was unlikely the two soldiers crossing the courtyard would bother him; ever since Canisp and Ilona had publicly defended him over a powerful Tarkaan's son, he hadn't endured so much as a slap. It was amazing how much easier his life had become once he had a vengeful angel of Tash on his side.

Still. Old habits died hard, and the two men were weaving slightly, looking rather more relaxed than was natural in a Calormene soldier. Hosni had crossed paths with a drunken nobleman exactly once, and he was not keen to repeat the experience.

The soldiers vanished into the barracks. After waiting ten heartbeats, then ten more just to be sure, Hosni relaxed. He pulled his black cloak closer around his shoulders, reveling in his change of attitude toward the garment. Where once he had only worn it when ordered, meaning he was required at a particularly dangerous meeting, it now symbolized the closest thing he knew to freedom, and the joy of seeing the people he loved. He skirted around the rest of the courtyard and hurried over to Vesta's door.

The minute he touched the bolt, he knew something was wrong.

* * *

It was impossible to tell if her vision was blurring when she couldn't see anything, but she knew she couldn't breathe. The fist around her windpipe was merciless, unrelenting. Hazy blue shapes swam behind her eyes, and her lungs were sobbing in her chest. She could stand it no longer. Desperate tears forcing their way out of the corners of her eyes, her defiantly clenched teeth parted as she opened her mouth, gasping frantically for air. The Tarkaan's grip loosened for a moment, just enough to allow her one precious breath, before he descended on her, tongue forcing itself into her mouth.

She bit down and tasted blood, salty and cloying. It turned her stomach, but she held on grimly until her flow of oxygen was cut off again, forcing her to release her grip.

A dull blow to her face, a tang of iron and fear, and her blood mingled with his.

* * *

Hosni edged warily into the stall, every sense on alert. The warm glow of welcome he had come to expect was noticeably missing tonight. An air of tension, of danger even, permeated the air.

In the dimness of the stable, it was impossible to see anything more than a foot in front of his face. Hosni squinted, jumping in spite of himself when a large mass of darkness shifted. Some of his panic lifted as Vesta's warm breath tickled his neck. His hand rose automatically, resting on her neck, and he felt the tension of fear in her skin, the pulse pounding beneath his fingers. He leaned in closer, finding the horse's eyes in the dark, showing her his concern. Was she all right?

Vesta tossed her head impatiently, but there was indulgence in her eyes even as they darted about nervously. Yes, of course she was. That wasn't the problem.

Then what was? he wondered.

She jerked her head toward the stall door, indicating the dark stable. Her ears flattened along her skull. Something out there, she said, turning to her door. She glanced back at Hosni and flicked her tail. Come, I'll show you.

Hosni crossed over to her, following her line of sight as much as he could in their lightless surroundings. There didn't seem to be anything to see; after the first few feet, everything faded into a flat, uniform blackness. There was no way to tell if anything was there, unless…

Something moved.

* * *

She was rapidly losing the strength to fight, and the fear of what would happen when that strength ran out made her struggle all the harder. But she couldn't breathe, couldn't see…The Tarkaan's leg forced its way between hers, and she took the chance to bring one knee up with all her might. She heard a low grunt of pain and his grip loosened, just a fraction, but enough for her to choke out a low, "Help-"

His fingers tightened again, squeezing so hard that her vision flashed red, and she was afraid that his nails would rip through her skin, digging into her throat. The pain was unbearable, and she stopped her knees from buckling through willpower alone.

* * *

Something moved.

Hosni stiffened, but that was nothing compared to Vesta's reaction. She jerked as if stabbed, nostrils flaring. The look in her eyes up until this point had been mere anxiety, a natural fear of the unknown; now, it was replaced with a blistering fury, laced with veins of pure, icy panic.

Hastily catching hold of a chunk of the horse's mane, Hosni grabbed her nose, begging her to be silent. Don't move, he pleaded desperately, don't move, don't scream, I realize something has happened but you _must not scream._

Through her rage and terror, Vesta somehow understood. She threw her head to the side, motioning frantically for him to go and investigate the movement.

Normally he would have asked why, but the urgency in her movements was clear. Whatever it was, it was important. He reached over the stall door for the bolt, then thought better of it; opening doors quietly is doubly hard when you can't hear whether the door is in fact opening quietly, and squeaky hinges might be deadly here. Turning to Vesta, Hosni guided her forward, turning her with a firm hand on her flank—stand here—until she stood along the door. He scrambled onto her back, kneeing her in the ribs as he did so.

In spite of the urgency of the situation, Vesta winced and threw the boy a dirty look. He ignored her, slipping down her side and onto the floor on light, silent feet. As he crept cautiously down the hall, the mysterious shadow began to take form. A powerfully-built Tarkaan, shoulders and back tight with anger, struggled with something, grappling in the dark. What was he…?

A single, unnoticed step closer made everything far too clear.

Hosni knew Ilona's features better than he knew anyone else's. He'd spent hours studying her, learning the way she spoke, the way she responded to his soundless language like nobody else had ever done. Still, it didn't take a practiced watcher to see the way she cringed and fought to throw off the Tarkaan, the strong hand clamped around her throat, the dull hopelessness threatening to overwhelm her sweet dark eyes.

The chill of fear that had settled in Hosni's stomach intensified until it felt like his very soul had frozen. He took an unconscious step back, feeling phantom lashes singing across his back. _That_ whipping was seared into his memory forever. The price of an interrupted tryst, a Tarkheena's wounded dignity, her lover's violent anger—no matter that he hadn't been able to hear anyone in the room, no matter that he was only ten years old and had just lost his mother and been looking for a place to cry—was not one that could be forgotten easily. He hadn't been spotted this time; he could leave now, he _should_ leave now. He would hide nearby, he would be here for Ilona afterwards, when it was safe. He couldn't interfere. Getting himself beaten wouldn't help her, anyway…

As he took another step back, his left foot made contact with cold metal. Bending down to see what he'd stepped on, Hosni found himself holding Ilona's golden dagger, abandoned on the stable floor. As he held the knife in his hand, he was suddenly struck by a memory; Ristar, grabbing him by the collar, fist pulled back to punch, and then suddenly Ilona had been there, defending him.

* * *

"So tell me, exalted servant of Tash," the Tarkaan snarled in her ear. She could barely hear him over the dull pounding in her head, the drumbeat of her galloping heart. "Where is your angel now?"

She was dying and there was no one to save her.

* * *

He remembered the way her eyes had sparkled as she dragged him into the river, cap clutched in her hand, and the way her hair tickled his face when she hugged him. He remembered the warmth of her smile.

He raised the knife and buried it to the hilt in the back of the Tarkaan's neck.


	18. Condition

**Chapter 18-Condition**

"You have to let him go," Canisp demanded again.

Rabadash leaned back on his silken couch, supremely unconcerned, and she barely suppressed a snarl of frustration. Had she been in a slightly more reasonable temper, she would have acknowledged how lucky she was to even be having this conversation. The tall golden clock in the corner said that it was barely past two o'clock in the morning, and she had just woken the ruler of the most powerful empire in the world and effectively dragged him out of bed.

"Forgive my lack of vision, O my heavenly mistress," Rabadash said politely, "but I fail to see why such a thing is necessary."

Canisp could hold back the snarl no longer. The black fury in her gut had diminished slightly over the past hour, but she still teetered on a deadly edge. She was dangerously, tantalizingly close to releasing the baying tension, drawing on the dark energy of the raging storm of bloodlust in her veins. She had one very simple need; to put her paws to the hard, sun-baked earth, run down her prey and bring it to her mercy. She wanted something to rip and tear and worry into the ground.

Garshid Tarkaan, the part of her that still clung to sanity thought grimly, was very lucky to have been dead before she'd gotten to him.

Rabadash, unaware of his guest's bloody mindset, leaned forward. He adopted a sympathetic expression. "O my mistress and O the delight of my eyes," he said, "My heart aches and the sun is dark in my eyes to see the pain that a slave of my household has caused you with his treachery. His life will be short and his death long because of it." Canisp's face went blank with furious shock, which probably saved Rabadash's life. In the brief silence during which she tried to make sense of how the cruel threat was supposed to be reassuring, the Tisroc realized that she didn't support his plan wholeheartedly. Misunderstanding her expression, he continued, "I see this unsettles you. If my mistress would prefer, it shall be a swift and painless execution. Would this please you?"

"I told you," Canisp said impatiently, "I don't want you killing him at all. He's done nothing wrong!"

"In your desire to spare the boy you honor Tash with your mercy," Rabadash said evenly. "Surely one as enlightened as yourself, however, sees why I can by no means release a murderer, for the poets have wisely said, 'He who allows a lesser man to think above his station has handed him a knife to be stabbed in the back.'" He smiled slightly, amused by his cleverness. "An appropriate adage, given the circumstances."

"It would be," Canisp retorted before she cold stop herself, "if Hosni were a lesser man."

There was a short, loaded pause before Rabadash spoke again, and his voice had lost a good deal of its levity. "Surely a mere slave who would break the law so grievously, slaying a proud Tarkaan of the noblest birth-"

"Birth doesn't make someone noble!" Canisp snapped recklessly, forgetting momentarily that she was meant to be an angel of Tash and not a Narnian. "He was defending an innocent!"

The Tisroc raised an eyebrow, an unspoken challenge, and Canisp felt the fire drain from her limbs as she realized how far over the line she'd stepped. She fell silent, dropping her eyes as she would when confronted by a dominant. She was not among Narnian Wolves, who respected courage even in their enemies. She was a Mouse in a nest of adders.

"Allow me to remind my mistress," Rabadash said finally, "that she has yet to inform me of the nature of Garshid Tarkaan's alleged crime." His voice was once more perfectly calm and polite.

Anger flared up again in Canisp's belly, smoldering darkly, as if she'd swallowed coals that no longer burned but retained the power of the fire. This time, however, the anger was not for Rabadash.

It had been a perfect evening—late night, really. Orion had been cheerfully recounting their wayward earlier years, imagining the adventures they could have in Narnia in an attempt to draw Canisp's mind away from worrying about their imminent escape. It had been working; as their shared bowl of fine Calormene wine slowly emptied, the recollections became less focused on mutual teasing. ("The first time I saw you transform-" "-You should have seen the look on your face, it was priceless." "I fell out of the tree!" "Did you really? I didn't see it, I was laughing too hard.") They remembered the quiet nights when a thaw could almost be felt in the air, Faun music in the distance; Orion wanted to hear more details about Govinia and her family, as he'd never met Typhus and knew Tumnus only as a young adult. Finally, they'd lapsed into an easy quiet, murmuring a few words here and there, each lost in waking dreams that, for once, brought comfort.

And then the door had flown open and Ilona had stumbled into the room clutching a bloody knife. She had stuttered her way through a confused and half-frantic story involving Hosni and a Tarkaan, but Canisp didn't need to hear it. Pale and shaking, trying to hide it, masking weakness as was her way… but she couldn't mask her eyes. They held a uniquely hideous mixture of dulling horror and wild, animalistic terror. Coupled with the scent of fear and the strange masculine smell that clung to Ilona's clothes, Canisp knew only too well what had happened.

Realizing Rabadash was still waiting for her to speak, Canisp shook out her fur in an attempt to release some of her excess energy. "I can't tell you," she said, attempting to sound civil. "It's not my place."

"May I ask whose place it might then be?" Rabadash asked with frigid courtesy. "I tire of these vague insinuations."

"The only one who has any right is Ilona," Canisp said firmly, "and she's in no fit state."

Rabadash cocked an eyebrow, glancing towards something behind Canisp. "Isn't she?"

Canisp turned to see Ilona hesitating in the doorway. The mottled bruises around her throat had darkened painfully, but her split lip had stopped bleeding and her hair was brushed back carefully into place. Her sweat-soaked tunic and trousers had been exchanged for a simple white dress, and her dagger—wiped clean and bright again—hung at her hip.

"Forgive me for intruding, my lady," she said quietly, stepping fully into the room, and despite herself Canisp feels a flare of pride that she pointedly doesn't ask Rabadash's pardon. Her right hand was sheathed in Canisp's white-leather falconry glove. Orion, who had stayed with her while Canisp volunteered to sort out Hosni's arrest, was perched on her wrist. The hand that held him was perfectly steady as Ilona knelt beside Canisp's ottoman.

Orion hopped off her arm, flapping up onto Canisp's back. After a bit of fussing, he settled down between her wing joints. "She heard we were trying to clear things up, and decided to come down and give her side of the story," he explained. His voice was slightly too casual as he said it, and Canisp realized she wasn't the only one struggling with bloodlust.

"Are you sure?" she asked Ilona, looking her over with concern. For all the girl's outward strength, her scent was still tinged with fear.

Ilona looked up, giving a faint smile. She lifted a hand and rested it against Canisp's neck, winding her fingers tightly into the thick, coarse fur. She nodded.

Rabadash waved his hand lazily, leaning back. "Begin, then," he ordered, and Ilona began.

* * *

Rabadash believed her.

Maybe he was still reverent enough to believe that a changeling and her servant would never lie. Maybe he knew Garshid well enough that their account was easily believed. Maybe the truth was so evident in Ilona's bearing, so raw and painfully _there_, evidenced by the marks on her neck and blood on her lip, that it was impossible to doubt her. Whatever it was, he didn't challenge her truthfulness. When she had finished, he sat forward and gave a deep seated bow to Canisp.

"O my mistress and O the delight of my eyes," he said subserviently, "I pray you accept my deepest apologies that this event took place. Without doubt, one who would attempt such a defilement against the servant of a changeling is hated by the gods and deserves their fate." He added as an afterthought, "No harm, certainly, will come to the slave. His act was one of honor and glory to Tash."

Ilona spoke up again. "You'll release him?"

Rabadash spoke only to Canisp, as if Ilona hadn't spoken. "Releasing him will be difficult," he informed her. "Garshid Tarkaan was a powerful man. If his killer is freed without due explanation, your boy may be in danger from his supporters. Nor would I be loved by my people should they believe I released a murderer in their midst."

Deciding not to voice her skepticism that "Rabadash the Ridiculous" was loved by his people anyway, Canisp suggested a public pardon. "At the Festival tomorrow."

"Later today," Orion corrected, yawning. "Why do crises never happen right after lunch?"

Canisp ignored him. "You'll be there anyway," she pressed.

"Hail him as a hero, free him, appoint him Ilona's bodyguard." Orion's trademark good nature seemed to be winning Rabadash over. "They'll love it and you can't keep him as a slave after this anyway, not after you've announced that he was right to kill a noble. The politics would be too complicated to be worth it."

Rabadash sat back, looking pleased. "A wise suggestion, O my noble and heavenly mistress. I shall inform my subjects of his deed as you suggest."

Ilona looked up at Canisp, eyes shining. Canisp flashed her a toothy grin and licked her forehead affectionately.

"Ew," observed Orion, and then bumped his head under Canisp's chin in celebration.

"…Directly after your speech. That will do nicely, yes?"

For the space of a heartbeat, the Narnians remained perfectly content. It wasn't the immediate action they had wanted, but their speech was just this afternoon. Hosni wouldn't have to wait long.

There was an almost audible click as they remembered.

Their speech. The one they would be using to bring his plans to a screeching halt. They would be putting an end to the invasion Tisrocs had wanted for centuries, and then asking for a favor.

A freezing white tongue of dread licked along Canisp's ribs like a flame, filling her lungs and heart with frost. For a moment she was standing once again on the bank of a frozen river, gazing across the ice and into the eyes of someone she couldn't save.

**A/N:** Yes. I am a terrible person. I thought we had established that.


	19. Pieces

**Chapter 19-Pieces**

Ilona's grip on Canisp's fur tightened convulsively, but she didn't miss a beat. "Thank you," she said with nothing short of worshipful adoration. "My master is generous." Her wide, expressive eyes glittered with welling tears of joy.

Rabadash was once again unmoved. He ignored her, raising an eyebrow at Canisp. "Is that your opinion as well?" he inquired, a veiled challenge in his voice. "My mistress has been very quiet, suffering her slave to speak to me on her behalf…"

Feathers brushed softly against Canisp's neck as Orion stretched his wings, utterly unfazed. "She's the better speaker," he said unapologetically, "and this is her story, not ours."

"My master is, of course, correct," Rabadash said with a tight smile. He glanced briefly at Ilona, an unfriendly look in his eyes even as he smiled. "Even a hardhearted man would be moved by her desire to bring the boy…release."

He smirked slightly as he said it, and Ilona's starry-eyed mask became noticeably more strained. She bowed deeply, touching her forehead to the ground before sitting back up. "O my master," she said in that same tone of reverent gratitude, "You have my deepest thanks and those of my heavenly mistress; we have kept you from precious sleep for too long, and if you will it we would leave you now in peace."

Rabadash inclined his head, and Ilona barely paused long enough for Orion to fly to her fist before winding her free fingers into Canisp's thick scruff and all but dragging her from the room.

* * *

"He knew, didn't he?"

Ilona didn't answer right away. She drew the thick velvet curtains, crossed to the door, and turned the lock three times, rattling the handle to ensure it was tightly closed before slamming the heavy golden bolt across. She clutched the bolt like a lifeline.

"Yes," she whispered. "He knew. Somehow, he knew—or at least suspected..." Her fingers tightened on the bolt, then fell tiredly to her side. She didn't turn around.

"Do you think he ordered you attacked?" Orion asked quietly. Canisp gave a low growl.

"If he did-"

Ilona shook her head, still facing the door. She traced one of the carved designs with one finger and said, "No. It's not the way he works, and he would never have been able to foresee Hosni reacting the way he did." She paused, and murmured softly, "_I _didn't expect it…Besides," she added, "I have met Garshid Tarkaan before, and he wouldn't have needed orders. He was acting alone."

Canisp's ears flattened suspiciously. "He certainly has us trapped well enough for not having planned it."

"Don't say 'trapped'," Orion mumbled. "No sky…"

Ilona either hadn't heard him or chose to ignore him. "He saw an opportunity and took it," she said shortly. "He needs your support for the Narnia campaign, and you haven't exactly gone out of your way to hide the fact that you can't stand him. And then the night before the big announcement, he was handed the perfect way to force your hand without seeming to."

Canisp and Orion exchanged a worried glance. Ilona had never snapped at them before; her words were tense and cracked, and Canisp strongly suspected that she was refusing to look at them because she wanted to hide her face.

"We'll find a way to save him," she said softly.

Ilona turned slowly to face her, eyes betraying her doubt. She lowered her gaze, refusing to meet Canisp's eyes. She nodded mechanically, almost as if she didn't realize she was doing it. "I know we will," she said hoarsely. "I know…"

She finally looked up and locked eyes with Canisp, and the events of the last few hours seemed to crash over the girl all at once. She swayed on the spot and gave a helpless, desperate cross between a gasp and a whimper, and then she collapsed; her legs crumpled beneath her, and she fell to her knees and sobbed.

Canisp dropped slowly from the window seat. The thick scarlet carpet muffled her footsteps, her paws silent as a Cat's as she hesitantly approached Ilona. Dropping to her belly, she crawled over and nudged the shaking girl's elbow with her nose, giving a low, questioning whine. Ilona reached out blindly towards the sound. She grasped a handful of thick white fur like it was the only thing tethering her to the world, and Canisp let herself be pulled close, nuzzling the girl's neck like a lapdog, feathers growing wet with tears as Ilona let the last of her reserves fall away and finally, finally let herself be human.

The storm seemed endless, and yet over in a minute; not a part of this world or any other Canisp had seen. There was no thought anymore of mistress and servant, changeling and human, Alpha and subordinate; only of a soul crying out in pain and another calling back out of the darkness, helping to bleed off the agony and the fear, offering its ancient strength to one whose reserves had been temporarily depleted. Gradually, Ilona's fast, shallow breathing grew more even, her frantic hold on Canisp's fur softening to a single hand resting on her back. Her head rested on Canisp's shoulder, and the tension slowly drained from her body as she stroked the delicate fur between the Wolf's ears.

Even when her mind told her it was impossible, Canisp finally realized, Ilona _trusted_ her. Helpless, despairing, defeated, the girl looked at her and found _hope_.

She realized for the first time what it meant to be an Alpha.

"My lady," Ilona whispered, never lifting her head from where it was cradled in Canisp's wing joint. "Do you trust me?"

* * *

Ilona took a deep breath, trying to steady her heartbeat into something vaguely resembling a pattern.

She looked herself over. She'd never thought she would actually wear this ridiculous getup—and of her own free will! Before she'd met Canisp, of course, she would have given anything to be wearing the traditional dress of a superior slave-girl of the Tisroc's home; now, however, she instinctively shied away from something that so cleared marked her anything but a free Calormene.

The clothes had been designed after Canisp's knife, with similar patterns embroidered in gold thread on the pure-white silk. The loose-fitting pants, billowing out from the waist in a silken balloon and cinching again at the ankle, blended in with a long-sleeved shirt of similar style. She glanced down distastefully at the curl-toed gold-silk shoes, wishing she could have just gone barefoot like she was used to—the ridiculous things were _slippery._ She'd almost broken her neck no less than five times on the stairs coming down here.

But they were necessary to complete the look, because two pieces of the ensemble were absolutely essential: a headdress of shimmering golden silk that a year ago would have been worth more than Ilona's life, and a veil of white gauze that hid most of her face. She was almost impossible to recognize, which was what she was counting on.

She let her breath out in a huff, pushed away from the wall, and strode purposefully around the corner.

There was only one guard, which surprised her; normally there were at least two soldiers required to guard the dungeons—to guard dangerous prisoners like widowed mothers of five who couldn't pay their taxes or honest innkeepers who didn't look the other way and let a Tarkaan take what he wanted from some poor serving girl, Ilona thought uncharitably.

The guard flicked his eyes over her and gave a lopsided grin, leaning back against the stone wall. "Well, hello there, lovely," he said, unconsciously wetting his lips. "You new? I've never had the pleasure… did Shara send you down?" He held out an arm, as if expecting her to go to him.

"No one sent me," Ilona said coolly.

"Couldn't stay away?" the guard's voice dropped and his grin widened. Ilona clenched her hand tightly, trying to stop it from shaking.

"Do I look like a pleasure slave to you?" she demanded, gesturing to her thoroughly non-revealing clothes. "I want to talk to… to the prisoner, immediately."

The guard's eyes flashed furiously. His hand went to his scimitar as he moved forward. "Hold your tongue!" he snarled, drawing the sword threateningly. "Filthy little harlot—I'll teach you the respect due to a freeman!"

"What in the name of Tash is going on up there?"

Ilona went weak with relief as Ishdar Tarkaan came up the stairs from the dungeons. When he saw Ilona backed against the wall with the guard standing over her, his expression went from anger to exasperation. "Get back to your post," he told the guard with the irritated air of having had to give the same order more than once before. He waved a hand at Ilona. "And you, get back to your quarters and tell Shara to stop sending her girls…" His eyes widened as he took a closer look. "…_Ilona?"_

Ilona dipped her head in greeting. "I wanted to see Hosni," she said. "You've heard what happened, haven't you, captain? Surely the Tisroc would—may he live forever," she added hastily, "would have told _you_?"

Ishdar bowed. "I've not been told everything, O my mistress, but only minutes ago we were given orders to unchain the prisoner and treat him well." He offered her an affectionate smile and, breaking protocol, said, "I believe he's to be pardoned, little sister. Don't worry."

"He is," she confirmed. "But he doesn't know that, Ishdar… sir. He'll be terrified. Couldn't I go down and reassure him?"

The guard scoffed. "We have standing orders not to allow anyone in to see prisoners, especially not some-"

"Watch yourself," warned Ishdar Tarkaan in a deadly voice, "And remember to whom you speak." Turning to Ilona, he held out a large metal key and said kindly, "Take all the time you need."

**A/N:** I really, really like Ishdar. He's not a hero, he's not going to suddenly "see the error of his ways" and turn Narnian; he's just a genuinely good-hearted Calormene man. I like that about him. I'm glad he exists.


	20. Decision

**Chapter 20-Decision**

Hosni winced and flung up and arm to shield his eyes as the door of his cell swung open, flooding the dingy little room with blinding torchlight. The bright light vanished quickly as the door closed, leaving him blinking, eyes straining as his heart thudded erratically. He pressed back against the dirty wall, cringing as he waited for a blow out of the darkness. The Tarkaan captain who had been down only minutes ago had been kind enough, unlocking his manacles and giving him a warm roll with a piece of cheese and a reassuring pat on the shoulder, but that didn't mean Hosni wasn't still awaiting execution and whoever was here they were probably going to drag him upstairs and out into the courtyard like he'd seen countless times, and tie the rope around his neck, and if he was lucky his weight would be enough to snap his neck on the noose and he would die quickly and-

Soft, gentle fingers touched his wrist, put the slightest bit of friendly pressure on his trembling hand, brushed a bit of stray hair off his forehead; and as his vision adjusted to the darkness again he saw blessedly familiar eyes gazing at him with worry.

* * *

Ilona couldn't help but smile as she saw relieved recognition flicker in Hosni's eyes. Lowering her filmy veil, she asked, "Are you all right?"

Sometimes she didn't believe he was really deaf. His eyes softened and he pulled her close, saying more clearly than any words, _Are you?_

The warmth and love in the gesture were overwhelming, and for a moment Ilona let herself be content, setting aside the knowledge of why she'd come, accepting gratefully this simplest of comforts. The last day had taken its toll on her in more ways than one, and she rested her head tiredly on his shoulder. "Mmm," she murmured. "I'll be fine."

It was a mercy, she thought as she fought back tears, that he couldn't hear her voice break. She hadn't even told Canisp her plan, and it was better, less painful, if Hosni didn't know the full truth until he absolutely had to.

The truth was that there was no plan. She was here to say goodbye.

* * *

_"Promise me, my lady," she had said, insistently, as if she had never before had a request this important and never would again. "When the time comes, promise me that you'll run and don't wait for me."_

_Canisp's ears had folded back along her head in fear. "Ilona," she'd asked apprehensively, "What are you planning?"_

_Ilona had looked at her, dark eyes inscrutable._

_"Do you trust me?" she asked simply._

* * *

There were so many things Ilona had never noticed about Hosni, she realized, and the thought made her want to sob. Now that it was almost too late, she suddenly saw the way his choppy hair danced over his ears, the delicate curl of his long eyelashes, the fact that—how had she not noticed it before?—she was taller than him, so that when he held her, her cheek rested against his temple and his lips brushed her neck. He smelled like charcoal and sun-baked sand and horses and a wave of hopelessness threatened to overwhelm her when she realized she was never, ever going to be able to let go.

But she didn't have a choice. Given enough time—days, maybe weeks—she might have been able to come up with a proper plan, but they had hours. For the greater good, for something bigger than herself…she had no options.

She steeled herself, hooked her fingers under Hosni's shirt, and pulled it over his head.

* * *

_A stable boy was refilling Vesta's water when a superior slave-girl approached him. He turned to bow politely, then recognized the changeling's servant and made to drop to his knees. She caught his elbow and kept him upright._

_"Don't," she said kindly. Her face was hidden behind a veil, but her eyes smiled as she gave a queer little laugh. "Not too long ago I would have been bowing to you…" She looked over at Vesta, who gave a deeply concerned whicker and nudged her shoulder, snuffling at her as if looking for injuries. The girl patted the horse's neck distractedly, kissing her nose. "He'll be all right, girl," she murmured, so softly the stable boy wasn't sure if he was meant to hear or not. _

_After a long pause, she turned briskly back to the boy. "I may come for her later," she informed him. "She hasn't been getting much exercise—for which, of course, I blame myself," she added reassuringly, as the stablehand had blanched. "But she will have a lot of energy, and I'm afraid she may throw my lady during the Festival. I would ride her first, to calm her. I have another errand to do first; I just wanted to tell you I might be coming back, and not to worry about me when I do, I'll just be taking her out."_

_"Shall I, mistress?" the boy suggested. "I should feel poorly if you were to be injured riding her-"_

_"No!"_

_He jumped at the sudden sharpness in her voice, falling to one knee and bowing deeply. Shaking herself, Ilona pulled him back to his feet._

_"Forgive me; Vesta has never been ridden by any save an angel of Tash," she explained. "If you recall my condition when I first arrived, you'll know that even I can hardly control her. Just make sure the others know that I may be coming back and not to bother me if I do…"_

* * *

He'd realized by now what was happening; for all that he was dumb, Hosni was far from stupid. She could see the fear, the nauseous horror on his face, and yet somehow, even now, his eyes had room for trust. And love.

Unable to stop her hands from shaking, she carefully rewound the turban, arranging it so that not a strand of hair escaped. She couldn't look Hosni in the eyes as she carefully smoothed the wrinkles out of the richly embroidered shirt, flatter in front than she would have liked… but as she adjusted the veil, she had to look up.

He was crying; silent, desperate tears boiling over, eloquent eyes begging, pleading. _Please. There has to be another way. Don't do this. It's killing me. Please._

She was hurting him; she'd known it would hurt him from the start. For a dangerous moment she hesitated, love for the boy warring with her instinct for self-preservation…but her decision was made, if she'd even had one to start with.

Hosni would never make it out of the Palace alive. But there was a chance Ilona might.

Slipping a hand into the hidden pocket inside her shirt, she drew out the simple stone-and-twine pendant that had been her sixteenth birthday present. She pressed it into his palm and he nodded, tears flowing more freely, realizing finally that this was goodbye. Pushing the veil out of the way, he kissed her; soft, loving, quick, deliberate, like everything about him that she loved. And then he backed away, clutching the pendant for dear life; nodded once, bravely, accepting her decision.

The heavy door closed between them.

* * *

Ilona was silent as she emerged from the dungeons. This was unusual; Ishdar Tarkaan almost asked whether she was all right, but her breathing was fast and uneven and her hand as she passed him the key was shaking so badly she could barely hold it. A rush of pity for the girl filled him; ever since meeting her in the marketplace, he had begun to think of her as a younger sister of sorts. He took the key and gave her hand a friendly squeeze, and let her go without asking her to speak. He didn't think she would be able to and the last thing he wanted was to embarrass her in front of a soldier who'd already frightened the poor thing.

Sure enough, the moment she had turned the corner he heard a despairing sob, as if she had just lost her entire world.

* * *

Orion was wonderful. He really was. He was Canisp's oldest friend, uniquely kindhearted, joking but dependable, and she owed him so much more than her life. She had Orion to thank for her sanity; very few would have had the patience or the loyalty to stay with her for that first terrible year after being revived. The debt of gratitude she owed him for remaining by her side was not one she could ever pay back.

But if he didn't calm down, she was going to kill him.

As usual, he was restless indoors. He had been tapping out a rapid staccato pattern with one talon on his ivory perch for over twenty minutes, never missing a beat even as he shifted from foot to foot and rustled his wings incessantly.

"Ori."

The tapping didn't pause. "Hmm?" he asked distractedly.

"Remember when you taught me the fine art of sleeping in trees?"

"Yes." Tap tap tap tap tap…

"Do you remember why?"

Orion blinked, his talon still going a mile a minute. "Something to do with caves and you not liking them?"

"It was during a thaw," Canisp prompted. "We were staying with that family of Bears because I had a cold…"

"Right!" he exclaimed. Tap tap tap tap tap. "We wouldn't let you sleep in the snow because we were afraid you'd get pneumonia (tap tap tap) but there was water dripping from the stalactites in the caves and (tap) it was driving you insane." Tap. Tap. Tap. "Why?"

Canisp looked meaningfully at his restless talon. After a moment, he followed her gaze, seeming surprised to find his toe moving. "Oh. Sorry." He stopped and offered her a sheepish grin.

Tap.

Canisp hastily stifled her howl of despair, realizing that the timid knock had in fact been at the door. "Come in!" she called, sitting up.

There was a pause.

"…It's open!" Orion offered, his talon starting to twitch again.

"_Don't you dare."_

"Sorry."

When the door still wasn't opened, Canisp grumbled and jumped down from her beloved window seat. Shifting to human—for all the form's weaknesses, thumbs could certainly come in handy—she opened the door.

"Ilona!" she said in surprise, standing aside to admit their white-clad visitor. "Welcome back! Normally your plans take longer…" She shifted back to her wolf and nudged Ilona's leg in greeting. She gave a gentle huff of surprise. "Do I want to know why you smell like Hosni?"

"Canisp," said Orion in a hushed voice.

Canisp looked at him, cocking her head slightly. "What?" she asked. "I'm just teasing, she knows that."

"_Canisp."_

The moment she looked up, she understood.

"This changes things," said Orion with forced calm.

Standing in front of them with reddened eyes and tearstained cheeks, clad in Ilona's formal garb, was a very frightened Hosni.

**A/N: **PLOT TWIST!


	21. Escape

**Chapter 21-Escape**

"They changed clothes," said Canisp disbelievingly. "Switched places. _That_ was the plan?"

"Apparently so," Orion murmured, flapping from perch to bedpost and leaning over, scrutinizing Hosni with piercing intensity. "I hope he didn't run into anyone vaguely intelligent on his way up," he added, "Or we're all dead. That disguise is fooling nobody up close."

Canisp failed to see how he could be so casual about this. "But…that's the worst plan I've ever heard!" she exclaimed. "We still have someone to rescue from the dungeons, but now we don't have Ilona to help us and we don't dare split up in case someone sees Hosni and we need to protect him! All she did was make the whole rescue mission even more impossible than it already was!"

The same thought had clearly come to Orion. Rather than fear or frustration, however, when he turned his gaze to Canisp, his eyes held another emotion.

Pity.

"Canisp," he said softly, "I think her plan's worked out exactly the way she meant it to."

For a moment, Canisp stared at him, uncomprehending. Then, slowly, painfully slowly, understanding began to build in some dark recess of her mind. She took an instinctive step back, away from Orion. In her heart, something had already been realized, and if she looked at it she would know what it was, but her mind refused to acknowledge it, didn't want to know because if she knew what it was she would have to face it…Without really knowing why, she was shaking her head helplessly, backing further away from the Eagle she thought she trusted and the truth in his eyes, a truth she could not, would not, was not willing to face.

"No," she said in a strangled whimper; but, against her will, even as she cringed and tried to force the realization back, the pieces fell sharply and irrevocably into place.

"_No!_" she howled, scrambling backwards, wings flaring, sending a silver-and-emerald perch crashing to the floor.

"Shh," Orion breathed, fluttering down from the bedpost. He hopped worriedly around her paws, trying to quiet her, unable to hide his own pain, his own fear. "Shh, Canisp, someone will hear-"

He cut himself off with a screech of shock as he leapt back, Canisp's deadly jaws snapping shut a hair's breadth from his beak. Her vision blurred with tears, she lashed out again, beyond rational thought, this time managing to rip several feathers from his chest. The Wolf bared white fangs and gave a deep, throaty snarl, but it wasn't fury in her eyes; it was pain, and confusion, and above all a terrible, deep-rooted, overwhelming fear. And even as she pressed a heavy paw to his chest, holding him pinned to the floor as she stood over him, hunter and prey, the Eagle understood.

Orion stared up at her, eyes wide, feathered chest rising and falling rapidly as the changeling fought to control herself, her eyes screwed shut, visibly trembling. He didn't dare make a sound; primal fear is not a force to be toyed with, and the beautiful Wolf was inches away from snapping completely.

"We can't let her do it," Canisp whispered, voice breaking. "We can't."

With a tiny, lost little whimper, she managed to lift her paw. Her eyes opened slowly and locked with Orion's. Struggling to his feet, feathers ruffled but none the worse for wear, the Eagle butted his head reassuringly against her foreleg. No apology was required.

Orion looked up at her, pitying once more. "It's not our decision to make," he said gently. Canisp's ears laid back flat against her skull and she sank to her belly, eyes closing against the helplessness of that truth.

* * *

Ilona shivered.

After the scorching heat of the stable yard, the cool, moist air of the dungeons had at first been a blessed relief. Coupled with Hosni's reassuringly uninjured presence, the effect had been downright pleasant. With Hosni safely on his way, however, and the flush of nerves… among other things… no longer heating her veins, the refreshing coolness had become a decidedly unpleasant chill.

She rubbed at her arms, trying to create some form of warming friction, and was grateful that Hosni was a Palace slave. She missed the solid weight of Hosni's pendant on her chest, the reassuring press of a dagger on her hip, and the clothes were rough, but at least they were in decent condition, capable of providing some form of insulation. For the first time, she wished she had Canisp's thick fur.

In reality, the dungeon wasn't all that cold. She expected her shivers had less to do with the temperature and more to do with the icy terror in her gut. She held a fistful of coarse fabric to her face, forcing herself to take deep, even breaths. The lingering scent of horse, charcoal, sweat and hot sand comforted her; surely by now Canisp would have figured out what was happening, and they would be on their way out of the city. The only person who could be hurt was Ilona, and she had to be strong enough to handle those consequences…or, at the very least, clever enough to avoid them.

The sound of approaching voices reached her ears. Inhaling one more lungful of Hosni's warm scent, she pulled his grey cap lower, hiding her face as best she could and ducking her head.

This was it.

* * *

Vesta shifted restlessly, and Hosni absently patted her flank. Canisp understood the sentiment; she felt terribly exposed here, standing around in broad daylight with only beehive-shaped tombs shielding them from sight. The sun was climbing steadily in the sky, and already her fur was growing damp with sweat; if they were going to stand around in the hot sun, she knew it made more sense to be moving, putting distance between themselves and Tashbaan, but she couldn't bring herself to move.

Not yet, she thought. Not yet. Just a few more minutes. Give her a few more minutes.

* * *

As Ilona was walked through the Palace between two armed guards, her heart hammered erratically against her ribs, as if demanding to be let out of her body. This plan, it said indignantly, was seeming more and more idiotic by the second and it wanted no part of this madness.

_Shut up,_ she wanted to tell it. _This is all your fault, anyway._

That brief moment of distraction was her undoing. Not watching where she was going, her foot caught on a doorjamb, and she stumbled slightly. Ishdar Tarkaan caught her elbow, helping to steady her, and without thinking she looked up and flashed him a quick smile of thanks.

At first, he returned the smile politely. Then he froze, and Ilona realized her fatal mistake.

"Captain?" asked the other guard. "Is there a problem?"

Ilona shook her head slightly, begging Ishdar with her eyes not to give her away. For a moment, he hesitated, and she felt a tiny bubble of hope.

Never looking away from her face, he said quietly to the guard, "Sound the alarm."

* * *

A series of long, low trumpets sounded from the city, shattering the silence of the Tombs. Orion's head swiveled towards the sound, sharp eyes focusing on the city, and Vesta's ears pricked up nervously. Canisp, finally in human form to avoid the heat, lifted her head from her knees. Only Hosni was unaffected by the sudden sound, kneeling next to Vesta and re-checking the fit of her saddlebags.

"Canisp," Orion said quietly. "We should go."

He was right. They had wasted too much time already; if they wanted to escape, they had to leave now. But Canisp couldn't move. She was clinging desperately to the last thread of hope; Ilona _always_ had a plan. Surely she would meet them here; any minute now, she'd show up with the story of some brilliantly executed escape. She had to. The alternative was too painful.

_…mercilessly bright blade flashing in the sun, lifting toward the heavens, whistle of death, wet _thud_, scarlet blood spreading over the courtyard, seeping in and around the flagstones…_

Canisp snarled and shook her head violently, clearing it of her waking nightmare. "We'll give her five more minutes," she said, aware of the barely suppressed panic in her voice.

"We don't have five more minutes," said Orion suddenly. "Five armed horsemen en route from Tashbaan. They'll be on us unless we leave _now_."

For a cluster of heartbeats, Canisp hesitated.

She stood abruptly and shifted to wolf form, leaping and fluttering onto the Tomb. She couldn't see any horsemen, but she trusted Orion's vision. "Stay with Vesta and Hosni until they've gotten their bearings," she told him shortly. "We're going due North, through the oasis. I'll follow you from the air. Once they're on the right track, you can join me."

Orion nodded curtly and dropped to his perch on Vesta's bridle. Hosni looked up at the movement and seemed to understand what was happening. He nodded as if he'd been asked a question, and climbed awkwardly onto Vesta's back, grasping her mane. Vesta tossed her head, eager to be off, but Canisp hesitated.

She cast one last, heartbroken look over Tashbaan. She could now see in the distance the telltale raise of dust that heralded their pursuers, but she couldn't bear to leave, couldn't bear to break her most important promise.

"Canisp," Orion said urgently.

"Ori," she whispered. She tore her eyes from the city and met his gaze. "We promised we'd never leave her behind."

**A/N:** Did you hear that? That was the sound of my heart breaking.


	22. Oasis

**Chapter 22-Oasis**

The desert lent itself to Canisp's heartbreak. The thermal rising from the burning sand was like a solid surface, a gentle hand that lifted her into the sky, whisking her into the pure wildness of open air, away from an unforgiving world of hot sand and hard streets and stern, unmoving walls. Within seconds, she had risen above the stifling aura of the desert. Up here, the air was cool but not cold, warm enough to be comfortable but not so warm that her thick fur was an inconvenience. There were very few air currents to knock her off-balance, and the powerful thermal held her almost tenderly, so that the slightest shift of her feather-tips was all that was needed to keep her steady.

For a few precious moments, all was right in the world. She was flying again, she was free, she was on her way home. The tomb—the roof of a _tomb_, not the lip of a snowy, windswept cliff—fell away behind her, and she could almost, _almost_ think of something besides the girl—not the Wolf—that she'd abandoned to save her own skin…

Snarling, Canisp swept her wings forcefully and made a sharp turn, circling back over the trio on the ground. Watching them from above, she felt her own guilt shoved abruptly to the side.

The horsemen who had driven them from the Tombs hadn't stopped; on the contrary, they were gaining. Five white stallions, their riders clad in shining mail, raced across the sun-baked earth. The Tisroc's crest fluttered from their spears, and their curved scimitars flashed in the sun.

Ahead, the Narnians had also spotted the pursuit. Vesta was galloping now, Hosni clinging to her back. There was a small flash of white as Orion took wing.

"She can't keep this speed up!" he cried as he reached Canisp's side. "Not in this heat, she'll kill herself!"

"She doesn't have to keep it up for long," Canisp said, trying to convince herself. "Just longer than they do. Then she can rest."

* * *

Vesta was flagging.

Her legs still surged powerfully, ears flattened along her skull, but it was clearly becoming a strain. The desert sand sapped her strength, sucking at her hooves and making it harder to run with any kind of speed. Her hoofbeats were heavier, more painful than they should have been; her deep chest heaved.

Sensing her struggle, one of the soldiers kicked his mount into a full sprint, throwing caution to the winds in an impulsive final assault. His horse's eyes rolled and its gasping was desperate—but the gap between the two was growing narrower. Canisp, circling high above, could only watch helplessly as the race drew to a close. But she had forgotten one thing.

Vesta was a Narnian.

As the eager Calormene rider drew abreast of his prey, something changed. Vesta's ear flicked up and to the side, as if listening to the labored breathing of her pursuer. Her heavy stride didn't change, but it seemed more collected, as if she were waiting for something. The Calormene horse drew closer, coming in from her right side, and the soldier raised his spear, leveling it at Hosni's shoulder.

Something flashed in Vesta's eyes (anger, defiance, a mischievous farewell) and the white stallion faltered. Her tail flicked to the side, as if twitching off an irksome fly.

And then she exploded.

It was a second wind born of pure, unadulterated determination, nothing more and nothing less; but such a second wind! She threw herself forward with everything she had, body almost flat against the earth. Her ears flicked cheekily, forelegs lashing out like whips, feet flying with all the speed that despair had stripped from her. She tossed her muzzle, and it was a laugh.

From that day until the end of ages, it was said in Calormene that the horses of Tash were red as fire, with a heart that burned to match; that no mortal man could mount them without being chosen by the god in person. Their manes and tales, the legend insisted, were woven of night itself, and in their hooves was the terrible speed and thunder of the inexorable sandstorm; so much so that when Vesta finally slowed to a stumbling walk—wheezing, soaked with sweat, muscles trembling, but victorious—there was not a man left in the dust who could have been convinced that she was nothing but a poor half-breed Narnian.

* * *

"Well," Orion said easily. "They _are_ a persistent bunch, aren't they?"

Dipping into a wide, sweeping pass over the desert, Canisp glanced down. Vesta was easily identifiable against the sand, a bright blot of color on the barren landscape. Far in the distance, it was just possible to make out their dogged pursuers. Mounted on white horses against the pale sand, sun glinting off their silver mail, they appeared as nothing more than a blindingly bright spot below the horizon.

"There's only four of them now," Orion confirmed, and Canisp was once again reminded of just how accurate an Eagle's vision was. "That eager one from before must have had to turn back. I'm not surprised, his horse was about to collapse."

"How's Vesta?" Canisp asked, leveling out.

Orion hesitated slightly too long before answering. "She'll be fine. She's just tired, and thirsty."

* * *

Vesta had every right to be tired and thirsty as the day wore steadily on and the sun continued to shine mercilessly down on the desert. For Canisp, however, the journey was downright pleasant. With nothing to do but glide lazily on pillows of warm air, her only concern should have been that she would get too comfortable and doze off in midair. This long, luxurious flight was exactly what she'd been longing for, all those days spent panting in a sweltering Calormene library. It was freedom, it was escape, it was the prelude to a triumphant homecoming.

She hated it.

For a short time, she'd thought that maybe, just maybe, she _could _move on, she could have a new life, she could truly heal. She'd had a brief taste of what it meant to be an Alpha, and it had been beautiful. And then she had failed to protect her pack.

But more than that, on a much deeper level, she had failed to protect _Ilona._ The cautious, wary, tentatively hopeful girl from the slave market had shown herself to be the best of a true Narnian at heart. She had given Canisp her loyalty, her love, everything she had unreservedly. And Canisp had repaid her by leaving her to die.

Well, she thought bitterly. She'd always been good at that, hadn't she?

* * *

The Great Oasis didn't come into view until well after midnight, a dark blot against the blue-gray sand, a lake gleaming silver in the middle. By this time, the sand had lost all of the heat it had gathered during the day; there were no thermals now, and the air above the desert had gone from pleasantly cool to freezing cold. Canisp and Orion, neither built for the constant flapping this necessitated, all but tumbled out of the sky.

The lake was lukewarm and shallow, Canisp discovered as she lapped up the long-awaited water; but after flying all day and most of the night, she would have happily drank seawater.

That was nothing compared to Vesta. The horse joined Canisp immediately, waded in up to her belly, dropped her heavy muzzle into the shallow lake and drank desperately. When she finally emerged, it was to gasp for air before letting her nose fall back into the tepid water, drawing as much of it into her as was physically possible.

Hosni slipped off her back with a splash and a wince. He stretched stiff legs with difficulty, standing at Vesta's shoulder and patting her neck worriedly. He placed a careful hand on her muzzle, pulling her head out of the water, and gave her a warning look. Vesta looked furious, but then blinked reluctantly and lowered her head again, drinking more slowly. Hosni nodded, then took the waterskins from her back. He made his way back to the shore and knelt, holding the skins underwater to refill them as he took his own drink, forsaking the use of his hands and simply throwing his face into the lake.

Canisp smiled slightly as she watched him come back up, shaking his hair like a dog and wringing his pants to get the wetness out of them. This young slave boy was more than he appeared.

Much like Ilona.

The smile faded as Hosni brushed his wet hair out of his eyes, lifting a full waterskin out of the lake and holding the second under. He blinked hard, stifling a wide yawn behind his hand as bubbles rose from the submerged skin.

Canisp understood the sentiment only too well. None of them—except perhaps Vesta—had gotten any sleep in almost two days. Coupled with the nature of those two days and the amount of physical and emotional turmoil they had involved, the whole group was in desperate need of sleep.

"You know we can't rest," Orion said quietly.

"I know," she sighed, watching as Vesta finally emerged from the lake, tossing her head and flinging droplets of water from her mane. The Calormene soldiers had shown no signs of stopping for the night, and even if they were planning on it, they had to be just as low on supplies as the Narnians, if not more; they had clearly intended for their mission to be merely a swift chase and a quick capture. They would have no choice but to continue on to the oasis, and if they found their prey sleeping…

Her body, utterly devoid of anything even vaguely resembling energy, protested that sleeping was still a very good idea. Forcing herself to ignore it, Canisp heaved herself to her feet, flexing her aching wings.

The movement drew Hosni's attention. His face fell as he saw her preparing to leave; Vesta, beside him, looked despairing, almost mutinous. She caught on quickly, however. Bumping her nose against the back of Hosni's head, she looked over her shoulder and out across the desert, then back to the oasis' precious water, and stomped her foot in frustration. Hosni sighed heavily, but nodded and knelt to take one last drink.

"And the Hermit said she couldn't speak," Orion murmured in disbelief.


	23. Enemies

**Chapter 23-Enemies**

The second leg of their journey was nothing like its spirited beginning.

With no more wafting thermals to ride and wings not meant for extended flapping, Canisp was reduced to plodding along beside the exhausted Vesta. The sand was cool beneath her paws, but as she walked (and walked, and walked…) it worked its way between her toes and rubbed uncomfortably, and she had to resist the urge to stop and lick her feet.

Hosni had dismounted and was walking beside Vesta's drooping head; Canisp suspected that his stiffness at the oasis had as much to do with it as a desire to lighten Vesta's load. Either way, the Horse seemed to appreciate the moral support. Orion, resting on Vesta's back, was nodding off. Canisp didn't hold it against him.

At first, she had tried to stay alert, forcing herself to keep her green eyes focusing on the shapes of the mountains of Archenland, visible only as vague, black-on-black blobs in the distance. But as the night wore on the ache in her muscles, the rhythmic thump of Vesta's hooves in the sand, the calm stillness of the stars lulled her into a strange state of half-wakefulness. She was mostly conscious, she thought dully; aware enough that she had a dim sense of where she was, her body moving along as if it no longer needed her direction. And then she would give a slight start and realize that, for an hour or a heartbeat, she had been wandering in blackness and had no idea where she might have gone.

Gradually, she became aware that the world was brightening, her night vision becoming less essential.

When the sun finally spread its fiery wings and rose over the horizon, it did so in stunning beauty, a glorious triumph over the dark emptiness that could have set Canisp to howling; but to her glazed, exhausted eyes, the sunrise was only a prelude to the return of scorching heat.

The prelude was brief. As the sun took to the skies, so did Canisp and Orion, the worrying tremble in their wings overcome by the need to escape the heat. The sun that was ruthlessly punishing the innocents below, Canisp reflected miserably, took pity on _her_, fueling the thermals that held her in the sky.

Afraid to blink for fear of falling asleep in midair and not being able to catch herself, Canisp returned to her halfhearted scanning of the desert.

"…Ori," she breathed.

There was hope just below the horizon. At the edge of her vision, still several hours' ride away but _there,_ the desert began to give way. Slowly but surely, it was fading into a grassy, scrub-filled stretch of land, and then—oh, for Narnia!—it disappeared entirely, surrendering to the light, open forests of Archenland's Southern March.

Orion looked up. Eyes immediately blazing with energy as he took in the sight, he gave a great screech of jubilation. It was a cry of wild triumph, unrestrained by Calormene walls, made fierce by the bold air of the North—the sound of untamed freedom. It stirred Canisp's sluggish blood and sent a measure of strength—faint, but pure and true—tingling down her spine and into the very tips of her feathers. Below, Vesta lifted her head slightly. Something deep in her eyes brightened, her ears pricked forward proudly, and while her steps were still slow they were no longer hopeless.

"We made it," Canisp murmured, unable to really believe the words, and as she said it she felt dark chains in her heart, chains she hadn't even realized were there, shatter and fall away. Looking in Orion's eyes, she knew he felt it, too.

"Welcome home," he said softly.

* * *

There had surely never been a sight quite so beautiful, Canisp thought, as their first glimpse of a clear mountain stream. She fell through the trees, welcoming the branches that whipped her chest and face. She landed heavily and collapsed, reveling in the wonderfully soft, springy earth, wings stiff and painful from the long flight, tongue dry. Orion dropped past her head, sweeping into a shallow straight-winged glide that landed him perfectly on a dead branch extending into the swift-running stream. She understood the look he gave the deliciously fresh water, but they had already agreed that they wouldn't drink.

Not first. Someone else had earned that right.

Vesta approached painfully with Hosni walking by her head, encouraging her with eyes and body to keep going, not far now, only a little further…

As her eyes fell on the source of the taunting sound, the tension of the journey seemed to fall from her shoulders in one long, exhausted sigh of utter relief. With slow, heavy steps, each movement a Herculean effort in itself, she pulled herself to the water's edge. Together, the four Narnians lowered their heads to the stream, and no hero's welcome could have been so satisfying.

* * *

"You're restless, Canisp."

Canisp's ear twitched toward Govinia's voice, and she lifted her head from the cushion. "Sorry," she said. "I just keep feeling like I shouldn't be here."

Govinia turned away from her work, giving a gentle smile. "Don't," she said simply. Her eyes were kind.

Canisp stretched luxuriously on her soft flannel cushion, blinking her thanks to the Faun, and they fell into companionable silence. It was broken only by the rustling of the wind in the autumn trees outside, tossing shadows across the sun-soaked floor and causing the loose papers on Typhis' handsome oak desk to flutter. Govinia's dove-grey quill scratched quietly across a sheet of parchment.

"What are you working on?" asked Meya. The little cream-colored wolf poked her head around the door, and brightened when she saw Canisp lying in the corner. Tail wagging happily, she bounded across the room and licked Canisp's muzzle before giving an exaggerated flop against her side. Canisp gave a low bark of laughter and pushed her off, and Govinia smiled as the two tussled playfully before settling again, Meya tucked contentedly beneath Canisp's wing, forming a loose cinnamon-bun spiral as she curled her tail to her nose.

"I'm working on a song for the Winter Festival," Govinia explained, dipping her quill in ink. "I think having you around's inspired me, the change of seasons really is…are you sure you're all right, Canisp?"

Canisp had leapt to her feet, dislodging Meya from the cushion. "I have to go," she said shortly.

"She's right, you know," said the dark grey wolf padding in from the kitchen.

Canisp's ears perked. "Thor?"

Thor nuzzled her in greeting, and Canisp breathed in his scent—Wet soil, a mountain face before the rain, pine needles and wood smoke and somehow the smell of the stars, all at once. "You do need to go, love," he told her sadly.

"Now?" Canisp asked, deeply disappointed.

"NOW!" Thor snarled, and leaped for her throat.

* * *

Canisp jolted awake to find a sword whistling at her head.

Pure instinct saved her; before she had time to understand what was happening, she had leaped to her feet and away in a single movement. The scimitar managed to catch her left shoulder as it came down, throwing a scarlet stain over her white fur.

The Calormene soldiers had caught up with them. Only one of the four was still mounted; the other three seemed to have been forced to leave their horses at some point, or else had ridden them into the ground.

There was no time to analyze the situation any further, even if she had been able to with her mind still muddied with sleep. Her instincts, fueled by pure adrenaline, took over. She lost track of what she was doing, lost in glimpses of the sun on metal, the flash of Orion's wing, Vesta's shrill whinny as she pawed the air in fear. She leapt away from the point of a jabbing spear, ducked under the slice of a sword, sprang away just in time to avoid the crushing hooves of a heavy white charger. Smaller hooves struck out at the charger in retaliation, and the horse squealed. Canisp leaped at a soldier who had foolishly turned his back on her; but while the soldiers were dressed only in light mail, she had none. Her teeth could find no purchase through the metal shirt before she was forced to jump away to avoid another spear.

A Calormene scimitar swept into her vision, too fast for her to avoid; but even faster, a streak of white slammed into the man holding it. Orion screeched in fury as he raked his talons over the man's face, gouging at his eyes with deadly accuracy. The sword that had nearly taken Canisp's life fell to the ground, and its owner screamed.

It was fast, chaotic, confusing, a blur of enemies with brief glimpses of those she loved; Orion, narrowly avoiding being skewered by his blinded assailant's panicked dagger swipe. A Calormene soldier, struggling to restrain a furiously struggling Vesta. Hosni, armed with the fallen scimitar and no idea how to use it, attempting to aid the horse in her fight.

The captain pulling his stumbling, exhausted mount around, kicking the boy in the head and knocking the borrowed sword from his grip. Hosni, stumbling back from the blow, tripping over a tree root, stunned and disoriented. The mounted soldier raising his spear.

Canisp didn't remember moving. All she knew was that she was crouched over Hosni when the spear came down.

There was a sharp, blinding, scarlet burn as Canisp threw back her head and howled; screamed in pain as she hadn't since the Witch's dungeons. The spear had pierced a snowy wing, flung up in a desperate attempt to protect the boy; and it had continued through, burying itself in the earth, pinning her down. A second soldier drew his sword, and even if Orion hadn't been fighting his own battle he could never have gotten there in time.

It said something, then, that anything at all could happen to make the situation worse. But as Canisp's scream of pain faded into the trees, it was answered by a sound that filled her heart with a deeper dread than even her own death. It was a howl, of sorts—but it was more human than it should have been, a lower tone, more threatening; and it had an edge of a wildcat's yowl at the end.

Werewolves were calling in the trees.


	24. Allies

**Chapter 24-Allies**

She was going to die.

In that brief, piercing moment of clarity, Canisp knew without a doubt that she was going to die. Helpless, pinned to the ground like a wounded doe, blood-soaked wing on fire, her enemy stood above her with a naked blade, and from all around came the bloodthirsty call of an approaching death far crueler than on a Calormene sword. Her fight was ended, she would never see Narnia again; she had failed her pack for the last time. An agonizing, unbearable ache spread through her body from a point deep in her chest. It was an emotion she had never felt before, not even in the Witch's dungeons, not even at the loss of her whole world: Despair.

As the howling reached a fever pitch, she turned away and waited for the end.

It never came.

A violent, ripping snarl from very nearby brought Canisp's eyes snapping open of their own accord. She had time to catch a glimpse of a massive steel-grey werewolf—teeth bared and dripping, scarlet eyes burning with furious hate, lethal claws extended as it leapt…

…Right over her, slamming with a grunt into the brightly-clad Calormene soldier. Tangled together, beast and man rolled to the forest floor as the rest of the clearing erupted with writhing, snarling fur.

The battle was over as soon as it began. The werewolves' claws ripped through Calormene mail as if it were tattered cloth. Bones crunched with every snap of their jaws. A lighter-grey werewolf bounded across the clearing and tackled the soldier fighting Vesta; the horse reared reflexively as she was released, and Hosni rolled out from under Canisp to run to her side. Through the searing pain in her wing, Canisp managed to feel a jolt of amazement as a smaller black shape—_Is that a Wolf?_ she thought. _Surely not—_used a shaggy amber-furred werewolf as a springboard, leaping from its back and into the mounted soldier. They fell together, and the Calormene's life was swiftly ended between the teeth of the same storm-grey creature who had saved Canisp. His charger screamed and attempted to kick, but the amber werewolf leaped and buried its teeth in the stallion's white neck, and it was done.

The silence was louder than the fight had ever been.

Panting against both the adrenaline coursing in her veins and the crippling pain in her wing, Canisp tried to gather her paws under her. She didn't understand what had just happened or why, but she knew she wanted to face it on her feet.

The moment she tried to shift her weight, a stab of agony shot along her spine and deep into her skull, and her vision flickered and tinged with scarlet. The change in position had moved her wing, grating it along the blood-soaked shaft. Fighting the powerful urge to be sick, Canisp sank back to her belly, unable to hold back a low moan.

"Angela," said a rough, concerned voice.

The light-furred werewolf started towards her, and before she had time to realize what was happening Canisp's wings had tried instinctively to flare, white-hot sickening _pain_ exploded behind her eyes, and her vision flashed white, then red, then black.

* * *

"_She's lost a lot of blood."  
"Not as much as you think, and not a dangerous amount. Her wing is elevated-"  
"Elevated pinfeathers, that's enough to ground her for life!"  
"We came as fast as we could."  
"Marina, help me with this..."  
"I'm not blaming you, but she's Eagle as much as Wolf, she'd sooner be dead than-"  
"She's going to be fine. If you would just-"_

* * *

"Canisp, can you hear me?"

It wasn't a familiar voice…but it wasn't quite the voice of a stranger, either. At the very least it wasn't a werewolf's voice—it was low and clear and female, and carried a genuine note of concern. Canisp opened her eyes blearily.

The speaker was a Narnian Wolf—that in itself served to quell some of Canisp's fear. The she-wolf was a bit older than Canisp, but still in the prime of her life; her fur was thick and healthy, clean white along her chest and belly and vibrant red on her back. Her amber eyes—familiar, somehow, she _knew_ those eyes—were worried, friendly.

As Canisp focused, some of the Wolf's tension faded. "She's all right," she called over her shoulder.

Canisp was inclined to disagree with that statement, but the light-grey werewolf she had seen before accepted it. "I thought so," she growled. Speaking slowly, as if Canisp were a rabid dog, she added, "You passed out for a minute, but you're all right." As she spoke, she edged toward Canisp's throbbing wing. "I'm just going to-"

"Get away from me!" Canisp snapped. She was careful not to spread her wings this time, but her hackles raised and she bared her teeth warningly.

She was acutely aware of how utterly unthreatening she looked.

Despite the pathetic attempt at intimidation, the werewolf had stopped in her tracks at Canisp's snarl. She flicked her ears back and growled angrily, "If you'd rather bleed out in the dirt like a slaughtered pig-"

The darker grey werewolf, who seemed to be the leader, gave a low _woof _of warning, and the lighter stood down.

The she-wolf spoke up again, lowering her muzzle so Canisp didn't have to look up at her. "It's all right," she said quietly. "This is Angela, she's a healer. She's going to take care of your wing."

The werewolf, Angela, dipped her muzzle. "Don't worry," she said in a voice that might have been soothing if it hadn't been said in a snarl. "She won't let me hurt you."

Everything Canisp had ever seen of werewolves screamed at her not to trust this one, and she didn't—not by a long shot. The soft-voiced she-wolf, however...it had been too long since Canisp had spoken to a true Wolf, and something about this stranger felt trustworthy.

Also, her wing hurt.

Angela wasted no time. Reading Canisp's capitulation on her face, the young healer—for she _was_ very young, on closer inspection—trotted briskly up and began looking Canisp's wing over carefully. She was surprisingly gentle, never once bumping either wing or spear.

"Jen," she growled finally. "Hold this steady, we've got to get the spear free."

The Wolf immediately moved to Canisp's right side, taking the spear carefully in her jaws. Angela ducked her head under Canisp's wing and closed her own teeth around the shaft. Canisp braced herself for another blast of pain, expecting her to pull the shaft from the ground. Instead, there was a crunch and a sharp _crack_, and some of the pain eased as pressure was taken off the wound. Withdrawing from under the wing, Angela dropped a piece of bloodstained wood on the forest floor. It was smooth and round; at one end was the spearhead, and the other was splintered where Angela had bitten through it. Another crunch and crack, and the process was repeated above the injury, leaving a foot-long spike still embedded in Canisp's flesh.

"There," Angela growled, pleased with herself. "That'll be easier to work with."

Things proceeded quickly after that, and with the same lack of pain on Canisp's part; Angela gave her a sweet-smelling potion that tasted strongly of poppy and poinsettia, which eased a great deal of the pain as well as relaxing her tense muscles, making it easier for the werewolf healer to work. She fiddled for a while with the part of the shaft that was still stuck through Canisp's wing, using one hooked claw to hone it down until the dangerous splintered end became a smooth, clean taper.

"Bite this," she said firmly, placing one of the broken-off pieces between her patient's teeth. Canisp, knowing full well what was coming, was all too happy to obey.

Angela drew the wood out as carefully as she could, and the tapering meant that it hurt much less than it could have, but even her pain-dulling mix couldn't block everything. Canisp howled into her mouthful of spear, leaving deep imprints in the remnants of shaft where her teeth clenched; her vision swam again, but she didn't faint.

After that, the worst was over. Whatever Canisp's instinctive distrust of the werewolf, Angela knew her trade. There were a few other stabs of pain as she worked, but the red she-wolf distracted Canisp as best she could. Her words were lost on Canisp, but she clung to the Wolf's voice, soft and gentle and oddly familiar, as if an old friend were speaking in her ear.

"Done," Angela growled proudly.

Lifting her head, Canisp turned to look at the werewolf's handiwork. She was impressed in spite of herself. Clean white bandages, packed with a healing poultice heavy on poinsettia—it occurred to her suddenly that so much poinsettia would be as valuable among werewolves as it was to her, and wondered why they were using it so freely—strapped her wing tightly to her side. "It didn't break any bones; you were lucky," Angela explained, and Canisp dipped her muzzle warily in understanding. It was slightly uncomfortable not being able to move the wing, but this was the only way to bandage such an awkwardly placed injury and would help keep it from reopening if it was jostled.

"It was a clean pierce," Orion added worriedly, speaking to Canisp for the first time since the attack. "I've seen Eagles shot through the wing with arrows before, and some of them did fine, so I think you'll be able to fly again…"

"She will," Angela confirmed in a snarl, licking the blood from her paws. "But not until I say so, understand?" Canisp tried not to bristle at the order, or the fact that Angela seemed to enjoy the taste of the gore she was cleaning from her fur; Orion, however, seemed unperturbed, dipping his head as respectfully as if Angela had been a Faun healer making the same demand.

The amber-colored werewolf, a slim female who looked slightly older than Angela, asked, "What are we going to do with them? We can't just let her leave, Kane…"

The leader's red eyes bored into Canisp for several moments before he shook his head. "No," he growled. "Wounds old to us are still fresh to her. The world may not be as she remembers, but that's one thing to say, and another to believe."

"She can stay with us," said a new voice. It was the black Wolf Canisp had seen earlier. Throughout everything, he had been lying silently in the shade just out of Canisp's line of vision. Now that he spoke, his words were measured and few, but seemed to carry weight, and the werewolves accepted his statement.

"Her wing will still need to be looked after," the she-wolf pointed out.

"She needs rest more," growled Angela, and that seemed to be the end of the discussion. Canisp had not been asked for her input, but she was not in a state of mind to care. With the adrenaline suddenly burned off and then some, she was more tired now than she had been even upon arriving; she was only very dimly aware of Angela collecting a leather satchel-type object (_So that's where the bandages came from…)_ and loping off after the other werewolves. When they had gone, the two Wolves converged on Canisp.

How they got to their den she never knew. She didn't remember the route or how long they walked; she didn't remember walking at all. All she knew was that somehow she ended up in a cool, sheltered, blessedly dark place and there was a bed of furs nearby.

She had enough consciousness left to make sure that she didn't collapse on her injured wing, but only just.

**A/N:** So a friend who read this was apparently initially concerned that Angela was going to just rip the spear out of Canisp's wing and was preparing to lecture me on accuracy.

...

OW?!

WHY WOULD I DO THAT I HAVE TORTURED THIS POOR WOLF ENOUGH. If I was a complete monster I would have mangled her wing beyond repair and grounded her forever. But I didn't. Because a minor plot point in the third book requires her to be able to fly.


	25. Wake

**Chapter 25-Wake**

Canisp shifted uncomfortably, reluctantly dragged from the welcoming shadows and into the waking world.

Her left foreleg was numb and tingling; she had fallen asleep with most of her weight on top of it. Her wing ached as well—as much from its cramped, tightly-bound position as the wound that had necessitated such cramping. She tried to mutter something about Calormene mongrels, which came out as a garbled sort of whimper.

Sighing deeply, she blinked sleep-encrusted eyes and looked around.

Her ears pricked forward immediately. It was the kind of place that put a Wolf at ease; a snug, dry cave of gray stone, with rough walls and a rush-covered floor worn smooth by use. She was sprawled out in a comfortable sort of nest; a loose pile of sweet-smelling sage, covered with a tanned bearskin. The irregularly-shaped entrance was small enough that a Wolf of average size would have to duck their head, but large enough that doing so would not be inconvenient. A gentle breeze rustled outside, but didn't blow into the cave—a good location. In cold weather, such a draft could prove irritating at best, and deadly at worst. This cave would be warm and welcoming in winter. Cocking an ear, Canisp could even hear a stream racing along not far away.

The sunlight filtering into the den didn't seem to have changed at all, which was disconcerting until she recalled their condition upon arriving. Perhaps it wasn't so surprising to think that they might have slept through the night and most of the following day, after all. She certainly hoped Vesta had slept at least that long—she deserved the rest. They all did.

However, that probably meant it was time to get up.

She stood slowly and gave a long, luxurious stretch, shaking the life into her foreleg and letting the tired stiffness work its way out of each and every one of her muscles in turn. Yawning widely, she gave her fur a vigorous shake. Her wing twinged, but only slightly.

She was alone, but it was clear that the residents of this cave had been there recently; their mingled scents were strong, and Vesta's saddlebags had been carefully placed in a corner, along with Ilona's clothes.

_Hosni's,_ she corrected herself mentally, feeling the loss as a tangible ache. _Hosni's clothes now._ There had been several spare tunics and a change of pants in the bags, she remembered.

Ilona, as usual, had thought of everything.

The sound of the nearby stream shook her out of the sudden wave of grief. It reminded her of the long, thirsty journey across the desert, and she slipped out of the cave in search of a drink, taking care not to bump her wing on the entrance.

The moment she had emerged, she stopped short.

"Oh…" she whispered.

The sight was breathtaking. The den, perched halfway up one of the steep foothills to the Archenland Mountains, provided a view fit for a king, with the entirety of the Southern March laid out before her in all its glory. The trees were thick and full, almost shimmering as they rippled gently in the late summer breeze. Down below, afternoon sun flashed off the curve of a small river where it struck out across an open meadow, dancing over shallow rocks before taking the bold plunge back into the trees.

"It's beautiful."

The black Wolf, quiet and solemn, stepped up to Canisp's right side, gazing out over his country. She nodded silently; he gave no sign that he had seen, content to let her have her thoughts, as he had his own.

After a time, she turned her attention from the landscape to the Wolf at her side. She studied him; he was…unusual. His pelt was the least of it—black as ink and shifting in the light breeze so that it looked almost as liquid. His chest was strong and deep; his legs and shoulders were well-muscled and sturdy, and he had a proud, handsome face. Startling ice-blue eyes—serious, watchful, steady—held the barest hint of a snapping fire deep within.

He was powerful—oh, yes. His every line spoke of power and control, and that in itself was enough to set Canisp on edge, his scent alone setting off instinctive alarms in her gut. And yet, he seemed… sad. Not depressed, not even truly unhappy, but…

Canisp knew loss. She could recognize it when she saw it.

He had to have been aware of her scrutiny, but didn't acknowledge it. He let her make her assessment at her own pace, and seemed to be simply enjoying the afternoon.

"What's your name?" she asked finally. Her voice was hoarse with sleep.

"Kiro," he responded simply, as if they had been holding a perfectly normal conversation the entire time.

A cheerful bark drew their attention down the mountain; Kiro's red-furred mate called up in greeting, tail wagging when she saw Canisp. She bounded up to them, and Canisp got her first good look at the Wolf. She was surprised to find light scars on the she-wolf's legs and muzzle. They were far from disfiguring—the scars were noticeable only as irregularities in her fur. Canisp found herself liking this Wolf even more—those were the kinds of scars common among scouts and skirmishers; in a proper pack, perhaps she was a border guard. Of course, it was also possible that she had at some point been trapped in a thorn bush.

The red she-wolf touched her nose gently to Kiro's shoulder before dipping her head to Canisp, as if acknowledging an Alpha rather than an interloper. "If your wing hurts too badly, there's a poinsettia bush by the den," she offered. "They keep a few growing wild for emergencies, and I wasn't sure if you noticed it." Canisp turned her head; after a brief search, she spotted a scraggly-looking plant clinging to life near the entrance of the cave. In high summer, its leaves were an almost sickly-looking pale green.

"It's not as powerful out of season," the she-wolf apologized, "But the healers are running a bit low and Angela said you shouldn't need them anyway—they're good for helping you sleep, if nothing else."

"It's fine," Canisp assured her. At the very least, she'd learned something—living in eternal winter, it had been a shock at first to discover that poinsettia leaves even _had_ cycles, and she hadn't known there was any use for green poinsettia at all. Besides, her wing was sore, but bearable. "Thank you…" She hesitated. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."

The two Wolves exchanged a look that was brief but meaningful.

The female stepped forward first, extending a delicate paw and speaking as if to an injured child.

"My name's Jenga, Canisp," she said gently. Her deep amber eyes were worried.

Canisp stared at her. _Those eyes…_

_Firebird._

"I think…" the she-wolf said hesitantly. "I think you knew my father."

A wild, impossible hope surged violently through Canisp's blood. "Your father," she breathed. "Mercury?"

_But the pups had died, all three of them, even though Erina's had been an accident, they weren't supposed to kill the females, it was possible…_

The she-wolf, Jenga, shook her head, slow, not recognizing the name at all, and the sudden flame of hope faded into darkness.

_Possible, if Erina hadn't been eviscerated. _

"Warrior," she corrected warily, and it flared up, brighter than before.

_Warrior had joined the Vereor with no indication to anyone that he was even under consideration. He met his niece exactly once, and he gave her the only gift he could._

"His… His name was Warrior," she said haltingly.

_"Well," Ignavus sneered, sauntering up to a pair of she-wolves with red fur. One of them had tears in her warm amber eyes. "Your brother has been accepted into the Queen's Secret Police. I expect you're proud, the both of you."_

_"What our littermate does is his own business," Jenga said coldly. "We have no brother."_

"He was… and I'm not proud of it… he was in the Vereor."

_A year later, tears in her eyes and teeth at his throat, she learned she was wrong._

"No," Canisp found herself saying in a daze. "He was a hero."


	26. Shadows

**Chapter 26-Shadows**

The den was warm and comfortable, supremely homelike.

Canisp had never heard of a den with a fireplace before, but it made a wonderful difference. It was small—so small she hadn't noticed it before, scarcely more than a depression in the rough wall of the cave, but it served its purpose well. It was actually quite ingenious; it utilized what had once been a vent in the roof of the cave as a chimney, filtering through a carefully arranged series of rocks that released smoke but stopped cold air from stealing the heat from the fire in winter. Those rocks were provided by the old landslide that had created a livable den out of a shallow depression in the mountain. Careful excavation, Jenga told her proudly, had created a perfectly stable set of outer walls and a tunnel that never got muddy after rain.

It was a valuable innovation, that tunnel; weather changed quickly in the Southern March. Foul weather always came in from Stormness, and already black clouds were beginning to form around the proud eagle-headed peak, the wind changing direction as the storm gathered air to itself in preparation for a blow.

There was a short whuff of greeting as Kiro slipped through the tunnel, shaking his fur out. After a pause and a muted nickering sound from outside, a pair of bare feet emerged after the Wolf. They were followed by a shimmying Hosni, worming himself feet-first into the den. He had changed out of his borrowed formal gear and into a tan shirt and loose cotton pants, complete with a leather vest, cap and sandals. Where Ilona had found them she had no idea.

Jenga bumped her head against Kiro's shoulder, nuzzling against his neck with a happy sigh. She seemed perfectly, impossibly content since Canisp, who still didn't have the strength to walk much farther than the stream, had spent the afternoon telling her everything she could remember about Warrior. Her eyes, even now, were aglow with happiness; she looked as if the weight of a thousand worlds had fallen from her shoulders. With the light of their tiny fire flicking lovingly over her fur, in fact, Canisp could have taken her for Firebird.

Kiro nuzzled her back, nipping lightly at Jenga's ear, and she huffed a laugh. His tail swished easily as he turned to Canisp, nodding hello.

"Pardon," he murmured, slipping past her to the nest of furs and dried sweet-smelling grasses. Canisp stepped carefully out of the way as Jenga joined him; her wing was tender and she had already bumped it against the wall of the tunnel coming in.

In short order, Jenga and Kiro disassembled their bed, dragging the furs out to cover the floor. As it turned out, there was more than just the bearskin Canisp had noted—Jenga claimed an enormously thick, warm buffalo hide with a contented sigh, curling up beside her mate and looking forgivably smug—the skin covered half the cave and then some on its own, and such a prize in a private den could only be a testament to both skill and courage, as well as surviving a particularly brutal winter. Hosni had tucked himself into a corner, wrapped in his reliable old black cloak and propped against Vesta's saddlebags with all the ease of a Crown Prince of Archenland reclining on silk pillows. Canisp took the last of the furs—a buckskin that seemed to serve the sole purpose of having one extra layer between sleeping Wolves and the cold stone floor—and tossed it to him before sinking down carefully into the bear's thick fur. Orion fluttered about, fussing from Vesta's saddlebags to Hosni's shoulder to Canisp's shoulder and finally settling on her right foreleg, tucked against her chest, unconsciously protecting her weakest side.

The silence stretched out, unbroken.

When Kiro finally broke it, eons later, it was at first a palpable relief—the den had grown tense enough that Vesta could probably feel it from outside, where she shifted restlessly in the face of the approaching storm. His voice was quiet, a low murmur, barely audible over the tiny snaps of the little fire.

And then the meaning of the words sank it.

"I was in the Vereor."

Outside, Vesta snorted as the first drops of rain began to fall.

* * *

"…What?" Canisp's voice was a hoarse whisper.

Kiro gave a soft sigh and lifted his head. Jenga rolled slightly, taking her weight off of him and letting her mate straighten up. He settled into a more formal position, weight resting evenly between his forelegs. He was a solid black shadow against the wall, looming over a Wolf who could so easily have been Firebird.

"I was in the Vereor," he repeated solemnly. "I'm not proud of it, but neither will I be made ashamed. It's in the past—what matters to me is the present, and the future."

Easy to say for one who'd _gained_ rather than suffered from the Vereor's tyranny! Canisp bit back the snarl that waited in her throat, the reflex tempered by a deeper instinct; for while the Wolf's voice was calm and even, unforgivably so, his eyes were dark with incurable pain.

He didn't need to be made to regret his past. Nothing could make him hate it more than he already did.

Jenga gave a small, pleading whimper. Her ears were down, muzzle resting on her paws, and she looked up at Canisp with mournful eyes.

"It's not like you think, Canisp,"

It was Orion who answered.

"Explain, then."

* * *

A howl of pain echoed through the cold, empty dungeons. The walls were unmoved; they were used to howls of pain. A she-wolf's cries would find no sympathy here.

She had screamed to unfeeling walls for over a year.

Her once pristine white fur was matted and stained, her skin raw where the time that never passed had chafed against a too-tight iron collar. The collar had been removed for this—not as a concession to her pain, but to ensure she didn't strangle herself. Even no longer bound to the chain, the she-wolf kept close to the wall.

She no longer remembered what it was to be free.

Another wave of pain swept over her, and she moaned. The moan grew higher as the pain tightened, sharpened to a pitiful keen, a plea to the heavens she would never see again, a cry for pity—from someone, anyone…

This was a place of death, she cried hopelessly. New life did not belong here.

The pups she gathered weakly to her side had no notion of where she was or what awaited them. They just wanted to live, to meet _her_, and in a rush of wretched, miserable love she knew she wanted them, too, wanted them to be born. How could she not—how could she help it? She loved them already, loved them as she had loved Epsilon the moment she felt his tiny presence inside her. She had borne pups in this place already, only months after she had arrived here—triplet sons to Ferinus, pups she hadn't wanted, hadn't even named, taken from her side before they had even been properly weaned.

But this was different.

Panting desperately, she called for her mate, the mate who had sworn to never leave her, who had given up his freedom and his family, given _himself_ to the Witch to protect her as best he could, the father of the blind, deaf twins who had wanted so badly to see the world.

"Warrior," she sobbed brokenly. "Where are you?"

Miles away and in a different world, a werewolf horde emerged over the crest of a hill.

Trapped in darkness, two young pups were baptized with tears as their mother gave them the only gift she had the power to bestow—some tiny remnant of her past, of the family they should have known.

Jenga and Calliope, second of each name, pressed closer together and squeaked uncomfortably in the cold.

* * *

"I never knew my…my mother's name," Jenga murmured, the word unfamiliar on her tongue. "None of us did, we were too young to remember when they took us away…I don't even know what she looked like. But I know she was missing a leg. Some of the Police, they would mock us for it, call her the three-legged…" She trailed off, throat tight with anger never truly healed.

Canisp remembered a gentle white she-wolf who had lost a leg in resisting Vereor capture. She hadn't known her well, they had only spoken to one another perhaps three times; but she _remembered _her, a beautiful Wolf devoted to her mate and son.

An orange-tinged mate. A red-furred son.

"Ophelia," she said quietly.

* * *

The voice of a male was the harbinger of doom.

That was a lesson no she-wolf had to be taught. It was inborn, as much a fact of life as that a pup only ever knew their sire's name. The clang of a closing trapdoor brought every Wolf to full alertness, instantly. Ears folded down, tails lowered, chains clinked softly as those Wolves who were bound pressed themselves into shadows and tried to disappear. The silence was sudden and complete, unbroken except for the click of nails on stone.

Three of them, the experienced ears realized with dread, and curled up tighter, praying the males would just pass on…

Afterwards, they would be ashamed for wishing such a thing on another. For now, all they wanted was to be overlooked.

Jenga whimpered as the footsteps came closer; she couldn't help it.

There was a gentle pressure on her flank. Amber eyes, no less terrified than hers, nevertheless managed to say _I'm here. Everything will be all right._ Just the sight of her twin's face—perfectly identical, like looking in a mirror, rare even among Wolves, where a Wolf might have five siblings in the same litter—managed to help calm the frantic pounding of her heart. Calliope rose—silent, always silent, so as not to draw attention—and draped herself carefully over her sister, so that their heads were side-by-side. They pressed together, impossible to tell where one red-furred body ended and the next began, and held their breath as one.

The footsteps paused.

Jenga's panic was screaming inside her head. She wanted to howl and cry and throw herself against the door, the walls, anything. But her sister's familiar weight held her still, Calliope's breathing quiet and even, her heartbeat strong alongside Jenga's.

She stayed silent. The door stayed closed.

A howl at once murderous and heartbroken shattered the stillness, a hammer to a delicate vase, just on the other side of the wall from where the two sisters were huddled. Sounds of fighting broke out, briefly, followed by louder, more frantic barking, the desperate rattle of a chain being snapped taut again and again, the scratch of nails fighting for purchase on the floor, scrabbling against an iron restraint. There was a yelp of pain, a closing door, a pause. Then, rising again from their neighbor, more slowly, more deeply, came a long, terrible, wordless keen of unbearable loss that went on and on, a mourning cry that wouldn't end. It almost drowned out the click of calm, retreating nails and the squeaking cries of pups not quite weaned.

Their mother called for them long after the mighty trapdoor had swung shut. Jenga lay there, shivering uncontrollably, as Calliope's hot tears soaked her fur.

**A/N: **Let it never be said that I introduce characters for no reason. What, you thought that little anecdote back in Book One was a one-off? WELL YOU WERE WRONG. Yes, this is _that_ Ophelia. And... no. She never learned about her sister's suicide. That, at least, is a small mercy.


	27. Treason

**Chapter 27-Treason**

Bright amber eyes met solemn butterscotch, and a silent understanding passed between them.

Tearing her eyes away, Canisp turned to Kiro. The hostility in her gaze was gone, but an instinctive wariness was more prominent than ever.

He closed his eyes for a moment, choosing his words slowly, deliberately.

"I was born in the same age group as Jenga," he said finally, "Which could make me anything from three years younger than her to four years older. The Vereor kept very careful track of its breeding stock. If we chose, the records are still in what is left of the Palace… I would rather not go back; Jenga refuses." He paused, and a glance flickered between the Wolf and his mate.

"It's in the past now," she said quietly. "We want to leave it there."

A silent dip of Kiro's muzzle seconded the statement.

"I never knew my mother," he said. "Until… things changed, I never knew the name of any she-wolf. Male pups were separated from females the moment we no longer depended on our mothers' milk. We were trained from the start in discipline, obedience, power and reward—taught skillfully to always seek the latter. Our sires were pointed out to us from a distance—we were told we should strive to be like them, introduced to others with the same sire—we competed, you see, to be the best of our sires' offspring, to gain their favor. Sometimes they would speak to us, if we were doing well…" He met Canisp's gaze evenly, and his icy eyes were frank. "We went mad with pride, when they did. We would parade our sires' rank and prowess in front of the others, and those of lower birth soon became the most aggressive, seeking to prove that they were the equals of those with better lineage. There was no bullying, at least on the surface—that would be dissention in the ranks, they wouldn't allow it. But any pup able to speak could challenge to single combat, and those fights were so grossly unfair it amounted to the same thing. The weak…didn't survive long."

"They killed them." Orion's voice held all the disgust Canisp was too frozen to express. "They let pups kill each other for sport and they did nothing to stop it. And they had the gall to call themselves _Wolves?_"

In spite of the circumstances, Canisp's heart warmed at Orion's fury.

Kiro looked back at them, unblinking, heartsore. Pup-killing was a crime that Wolves could not forgive—this revelation was the greatest evil a Narnian could imagine. But it was only the beginning, the secret behind the Vereor's superior strength and size—Wolves made strong on the lives of Talking Beasts, drowning their souls in the blood of their pups. The weak, the timid, the tender, those who asked awkward questions...

He looked at Canisp, still weak from blood loss, hurting, carrying in her heart the pain of a war long past. Suffering, even now.

She didn't need to know the truth—not the whole truth. She had her own burdens to bear, her own demons. She didn't need his nightmares-visions of young pups without the makings of fighters, trotting eagerly up to their assigned runner. A young, arrogant Wolf with his weight just coming, who would return later, alone, bearing the unmistakable air of a satisfying hunt and gain weight in pure muscle at an unnatural speed as the herd of cadets was thinned.

It was knowledge he could not escape, a reality even he who had lived it could not comprehend.

No one should have to face that kind of truth.

"Yes," he said simply.

It was kinder.

* * *

"Keep up," Janus barked.

Kiro was briefly resentful—he _was_ keeping up!—then realized the order hadn't been directed at him, but rather at a smaller Wolf trailing further back along the steep trail. His sire-mate (the term "brother" was never used by the Secret Police, as it was a sign of weak emotional attachments) wasn't quite struggling, but he wasn't matching the lieutenant's aggressive climb.

"Yes, sir!" Lucifer called up, crouching down and leaping across a gap between two large boulders. He lost his balance slightly, but recovered, scrambled down the other side and bounded up easily beside Kiro.

The black wolf flicked his ears forward in greeting, and Lucifer wagged his tail cheerfully in response. Kiro grinned. He had an odd approval for Lucifer. The other Wolf would never have Kiro's muscle, but other than that Lucifer looked exactly like their sire—a dark gray scruff, a darker "cape" over his back, and the rest a mixture of grays with the white parts almost cream.

Besides, Kiro would be the first to admit that Lucifer had twice his brains. He was excellent at strategy and planning, and had even managed to perform well in a few important training milestones by using his head rather than his teeth. Most of their fellows had little more than scorn for him—he was rather a weakling—but Kiro was oddly fond of the scrawny Wolf. If he was a bit on the weak side, he made up for it by asking good questions. Even as a pup, Lu had always been the one to ask "Why?" and the answers had always been satisfactory, reaffirming what they all knew, _of course._ The strong survived because they earned the right to—if prey was swift or smart enough to escape them, it deserved to live. If not, they deserved to live off it. On a grander scale, Kiro thought to himself, that was the way Narnia worked—the Queen Jadis was stronger than whoever had been here before, and so She must have earned the right to rule, the same way his sire had earned his rank by being the best fighter, and the Wolves had earned the right to be the Queen's personal Police by being the strongest and best of all the Beasts.

It made perfect sense, and Captain Maugrim himself had voiced approval when Kiro had mentioned his theory. He'd gone up a full rank after that conversation—the Captain had said that he would make Lieutenant one day!

Speaking of Lucifer…

"Why…are we doing this…again?"

"It's a strength exercise," Kiro explained patiently, leaping easily between the rocks as Lucifer weaved around them. "You heard the lieutenant. It builds coordination, endurance, muscle-"

"In short, things you lack," Janus scowled.

Kiro's hackles lifted—for some reason, he honestly resented his weakling siremate being criticized. Any other Wolf, and he wouldn't react this way—but not Lu. He was different, even if Kiro didn't know why.

As usual, however, insults rolled off Lucifer. "True enough!" he said with a bark of laughter. Kiro scrambled up a section of steep slope the way Janus had, while Lucifer trotted further along the faint trail to where it sloped gently around, back towards his companions. He shook his fur out absently, and missed the disgusted look shot his way by Lieutenant Janus.

Kiro knew the thoughts behind the look. _Does he think he's a Dog? A Wolf has to be hard, tough… angry! Does he have no bloodlust in him at all? Bloodlust is what makes the Secret Police strong!_ And, unfortunately, the points were valid…even if Kiro was _(Why? It made no sense…)_ inclined to ignore them and just let Lucifer be.

The trail was more level here. Letting Janus mover further ahead, Kiro dropped his pace down to match Lucifer's.

"You should really try harder, Lu," he muttered, not wanting to be overheard. "If you don't get stronger you'll never make the Police." The unspoken addendum hung unsaid between them: _And I don't want you to disappear._ That was perilously close to treason, questioning the Queen's methods, and anyway they were assured that if weaklings died off it was only natural—but the speed at which the dead weaklings' hunting partners gained muscle in the days after their disappearances was disquieting to say the least. Lucifer was already a late bloomer—most of the males in their age group were deputies at the very least, while Lu was still a runner and a low-ranking one at that. Their sire wouldn't wait much longer.

"I can't help it," Lucifer said helplessly. "I'm not Vereor material, I'm not built for it!"

"You just—you're not _what?_"

"Police!" Lucifer shook his head in confusion. "I'm not Police material. I haven't got the bulk!"

Was that all? Kiro gave a sigh of relief. "You just need to hunt more," he offered. "We could ask Captain Maugrim about giving you more hunting missions and bigger portions, I'm sure he'd be willing. You'll put on weight in no time."

The violence of Lucifer's reply actually startled Kiro into shying like an edgy Reindeer. "No _thanks!"_ he snarled. Seeing Kiro's shock, he dropped his dark brown eyes and muttered shamefacedly, "I…I don't like the hunts. I hunt on my own—normal animals, off-duty so don't tell me I'm slacking. The Talking Beasts are…they're too much like us. I don't like it. It feels…" he hesitated. "I don't know. But they think and talk and I don't like it. It's not like I can't eat other things."

"Too much like us?" Kiro paused mid-step, looking over at Lucifer incredulously. "But…they're prey," he protested. "Traitors! If the prey's a rebel, all the better, and if they weren't they should be glad to serve their Queen by strengthening Her forces, shouldn't they?"

It sounded weak even to him.

Kiro suddenly reeled back in shock as weak, submissive Lucifer rounded on him with teeth bared. "I caught a Doe on my first hunt and its Fawn screamed and cried and it sounded _just like a Wolf pup_," he snarled. There was a strange, burning sort of power in his voice—it wasn't bloodlust, and every Wolf knew that bloodlust was the strongest power there was; so why did _this_ power, the kind that Kiro would eventually learn was called courage, make him want to fold back his ears and show his belly? And there was desperation there, too. Lucifer had clearly had this thought caught in his heart like a thorn for a very, very long time, unable to confide it to anyone because this was worse than weakness, this was _treason,_ but Kiro had always been his friend as well as his sire-mate and he _could not_ _hold it in any longer._

"Why do we kill them, but they've never been anything but kind to me? Why did that Faun let me out of his trap when he could have just slit my throat? Why do the Centaurs help me hunt when I have trouble? If they're the traitors," he cried, "Why are there so many more of _them_ than _us_?"

The silence itself rang with shock.

**A/N:** Fun fact: I literally had no idea Lucifer existed until I was _writing the chapter already._ He just sort of wandered onto the set and asked if we were filming yet, and I stared at him and basically went "...WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME YOU HAD A BROTHER?!"


	28. Fall

**Chapter 28-Fall**

There were three distinct beings on the rocky hillside. One was Lucifer, panting heavily, quivering with fear and defiance. One was Kiro, and the third was the looming shadow of his siremate's simple question.

_If they're the traitors…_

He said it like there was another option…

_If it's us against them, and they're _not _the traitors…_

_Then…_

For a moment, Kiro teetered on the extreme edge of the world as he knew it, peering into the abyss as the terrible force of a deep understanding roared around his ears and poured into eternity. He caught a glimpse of a terrible _something_, far below, beckoning, and he was almost tempted to let himself fall.

The slide of gravel as Janus made his way back to them from further down the trail snapped Kiro back to himself. The invisible third presence vanished like a thought as needle-sharp fear stabbed along his spine, fear for his siremate's sake—had Janus _heard?_ If he had, he made no sign of it. The lieutenant looked angry and impatient, but no more so than usual.

"Tired already, Kiro?" he grunted. "This is a simple exercise. A pup could make this run!"

The flare of resentment was an ingrained habit—Kiro wasn't even breathing hard, and he'd been taking a much more challenging route than Janus had!—but there was no fire behind it.

He couldn't look Lucifer in the eyes as he turned to Janus, head down.

"Sir…"

He knew what he had to do—there was no _choice_. Siremate or not, Lucifer was…he'd _confessed_ to it, to being…being a…

_Why? _Why_ couldn't Kiro call him a traitor, even to himself?_

"I…"

Janus gave an impatient _hrrf._ "Yes, what _is_ it, Kiro?"

_No options._

"I…I think I twisted my paw, sir," he lied in a rush. "I was a bit clumsy on the last jump. I'll do better next time."

There was a strained silence.

Janus' bright green eyes were inscrutable. "We'll cut the run short, then," he replied evenly. His voice gave nothing away. "I should hate to see you hurt."

It took all of Kiro's self-control not to gulp.

* * *

The trail that Janus led them along might have been shorter, but it gave Kiro the shivers. It looked out across a cliff-edged bay, on the other side of which glinted the ghostly spires and windows of Cair Paravel. Kiro, like most runners, had thought it beautiful when he first saw it, all glittering and dreamlike against a clear blue sky; knowing the truth, however, Kiro couldn't help but be uneasy with _that_ looking over his shoulder. That cursed Castle would someday spell the doom of Narnia, when cowardly usurpers would steal the throne of Narnia out from under its rightful inhabitant. He glanced back at it several times during their slow, winding descent.

Well. It was cursed if you believed what Maugrim and the…Queen told you, anyway. Kiro forced his mind back onto the path.

In addition to the ominous view of Cair Paravel, the trail was frighteningly narrow; nothing much larger than a Wolf could possibly use the path without risking a deadly fall. And, oh yes, that was the other bit: the _sheer drop_, a very long way down to the disconcertingly cheerful blue-grey sea below.

Leave this for the Birds! He wanted his paws on _land._

A sharp bark came from up ahead as Janus called them to a halt.

"Lucifer," he said commandingly, "You go on ahead."

"Sir?"

"Listen, Wolf. You're smart for a runner," the large wolf explained gruffly, almost like he was trying to be encouraging. "This one," he said, jerking his muzzle at Kiro, "has got a good future as an officer ahead of him. He needs to learn to use his head more than anything. Your example will teach him that."

Lucifer nodded, looking relieved. "Of course, sir." He dipped his muzzle to the officer, then flicked an ear to Kiro in a friendly farewell. Tail waving easily, he trotted down the path.

"Sir…?" Kiro started.

"Hush. Watch." Janus' tone brooked no argument. "Watch, and learn well. This will be your only lesson."

"What do you…"

Kiro understood half a second too late.

"Lu, _jump!"_ he cried, and the trail crumbled.

A yelp of terror could barely be heard over the sound of rushing gravel as the unexpected weight of Wolf sent a long vein of loose rock, hidden by a thin layer of soil, tumbling. Backpedalling wildly against the rush of pouring stone, Lucifer was very nearly swept off his feet until, in a move that would have made their sire proud, he managed to find a split-second foothold, twisted in midair, and made a flying leap back toward safe ground.

He made it. For a handful of thundering heartbeats, Lucifer's paws were on packed, solid earth, and he was safe.

But the landslide had freed more than just loose gravel. With a sound like an iceberg breaking, half the cliff lurched. The jolt threw Lucifer off his feet, and before Kiro even had time to cry out, there was a _CRACK,_ a shatter, and a long shelf slid into the void. The rock thundered and fell, throwing up a spray of sea with a crash. Small stones skittered over the edge, and there was silence.

Utter silence.

And then, like the answer to a prayer, a hoarse call. "Kiro!"

Forgetting that Janus had ever existed, Kiro launched himself down the trail, skidding to a halt at the extreme edge of the drop. The weak point in the cliff that had nearly been Lucifer's undoing had saved his life; the heavy stone had sheared off at an angle, leaving a thin, steeply-sloping vein of packed soil and clay. If he pressed himself flush against the cliff, Lucifer could just barely get three legs onto the thin scrap of earth. The ten-foot drop from the trail had left him shaking and terrified, but he was alive.

"Kiro!" he cried again, eyes screwed shut. A thin stream of dirt poured off the tiny ledge.

"I'm right here, Lu!" Kiro called down, shaking with treasonous relief. "Can you get back up?"

Wide, frightened eyes scanned the sheer dropoff from the trail. Lucifer's muzzle twitched back and forth infinitesimally before he glanced down, closing his eyes again.

Fear began to settle back in. Lucifer might have been alive, but he was far from safe. Even as Kiro watched, a clump of clay broke free and tumbled into the surf. Lucifer's safe haven was crumbling under his paws.

_He should move closer to the trail,_ Kiro's mind whispered treacherously. _It's thicker there, he'll be safer._

He tried. He really did. He tried to do what a good member of the Secret Police would do. But not matter what he told himself, he couldn't help it.

"Lu!" he called. "Move closer to me!"

Lucifer obediently lifted a single paw, but some imperceptible shift in his foothold made him freeze, eyes widening in stark terror.

"Lu!" Kiro cried urgently. "Lu, _move closer!"_

Lucifer looked up agonizingly slowly, barely breathing. _Kiro,_ he mouthed, panic and despair overwhelming the sweet curiosity that had always been present in his eyes. _It's slipping._

Belatedly, Kiro saw it. It was a small shift, but it was there. The whole ledge had come detached from the cliff. The tiniest change of balance would send it off the edge.

"Oh, dear." Janus, trotting up beside Kiro, sounded nothing short of bored, and in an icy rush of realization Kiro knew that his siremate's earlier outburst had not gone unheard. "This _is_ a tight spot, isn't it?"

Lucifer whimpered.

"Maybe your rebel friends will help you, since they're not traitors. Only traitors would let their so-called ally perish, after all," Janus continued coolly. "I hope they hurry. That ledge won't hold much longer." He waited for a few moments. "They don't seem to be coming," he pointed out, and even Kiro folded his ears back in fear at the mocking cruelty in his voice. "And after you passed them all that information about our raid schedule. I suppose you just can't trust anyone who would plot against their own Queen—but then, we could have told you that. It's a shame you never listened." He turned to Kiro. "A tragic accident," he said consoling. "You did your best, but he was dead before we had time to warn him."

That was right. It was simple. It was the way things were supposed to be, and for just a moment, Kiro could almost have believed it. For a moment, he almost did.

"Kiro…"

It was that voice. Lucifer called his name in a hoarse, desperate whisper, and he turned towards it because there was nothing else he could have done.

Fearful brown eyes met icy blue, then flicked away, and Kiro saw what his siremate was trying to show him.

The landslide that had taken out the trail had pulled with it a fair degree of rubble. Among the rocks and scattered dirt lay a lifeline; a thick, gnarled root, bleached white and hard by time, previously buried and dead in the rocks. It was free on both ends, long since disconnected from the tree, dangling loosely over the drop like the answer to a prayer. All Lucifer needed was for someone to hold the other end, and he could climb up.

"Kiro," he whispered urgently.

Against his will, Kiro's gaze drifted to Janus, watching him with inscrutable eyes.

"Kiro!"

A desperate whine escaped through Kiro's teeth as he struggled. The root was _right there._ It was only a tail-length from his paw. He could…he _should_—

_Traitor._

No—

_Treason…_

"Kiro_, you're my_ _brother!_"

He wanted—

The ledge, held up too long by hope and friction alone, collapsed. Lucifer gave a sharp yelp of terror; there was a flash of dull gray, a leap, a desperate scramble at falling earth, claws scraping against stone that refused to give. White teeth flashed, and by a miracle managed to snap shut on a twisted old tree root, trusting that Kiro would grab the other end.

Kiro stood frozen as the mockingly cheerful sea laughed against the rocks, alone with the cold presence of Cair Paravel from across the bay and the even colder knowledge that he had just let his brother die.

**A/N:** More on Lucifer: I loved the symbolism behind the name. One of my old readers pointed out that aside from being obviously ironic, naming the only member of the Vereor who _wasn't_ evil after the Devil, Lu is actually sort of a reverse fallen angel; instead of tempting an innocent into darkness, he tempts someone who's decidedly guilty back into the light. This is why Kiro and his brother are two of my favorite characters; plus Kiro is really interesting to write.


	29. Meetings

**Chapter 29-Meetings**

There was a long, heavy silence.

"I'm sorry," Canisp said quietly.

Kiro shook his head, barely a twitch to either side. "It's my fault," he said hoarsely, closing his eyes. "I should have saved him."

Jenga looked up. "They would have killed him any—"

"I know," he snapped. He paused, sighed, and looked down at her, silently apologizing. "I know," he said more gently. "I know it would have been worse. I just… He was my brother."

Jenga tucked her head under his, nuzzling him softly. "I know," she whispered. "He was a hero."

Canisp looked down, unable to help but feel intrusive, and found Orion glancing up at her. They let the tender moment stretch into several before the Eagle cleared his throat.

"If you don't mind my asking," he said as delicately as he could, "How... how did you two meet?"

"There were a lot of Wolves at Cair Paravel before the coronation," Canisp pointed out.

The two Wolves glanced at each other. "We were there," Jenga said, "But we met in the cells." Her tone suggested there was quite a lot more to the story.

"Oh." Orion looked as if he wanted to shrivel away to nothing, and Kiro managed a quick smile in his direction.

"It's not like that," he said. "I was just trying to have a few minutes to myself…"

* * *

"Hey! Kiro!"

Kiro jumped at the call. A big, burly Wolf was loping towards him across the fresh snow; he had heavy shoulders and a deep barrel chest, thick off-white fur and mismatched eyes—one brown, one green. He had just enough time to think _oh, not now!_ before the other Wolf, as usual, met him with a rush, slamming hard into his left shoulder. Kiro, who hadn't had time to brace himself, was lifted off his front paws by the check, and the lighter Wolf laughed.

"What was _that?"_ he grinned. "What, crack a few ribs during training? I haven't seen a block that weak since we were three months old!" Boreal shoved him again, in a manner only the Vereor could call playful. "Big raid tomorrow night," he said enthusiastically. "My sire might let me come. You going?" His tone turned conspirational. "Word's going around about you," he said, grin widening. "You went out with Lieutenant Janus earlier and came back sans runner. That's _big_, Kiro! So, is it true? Have you got rank yet? Have I got to start calling you Corporal, Corporal?" He dropped into a slightly intimidating play-bow, jumping forward to cuff Kiro forcefully across the muzzle and then leaping away with the same tongue-lolling grin.

Kiro struggled to keep his hackles down. He couldn't afford to start arguing with Boreal. Their age-group took it for granted that Kiro would be Captain someday—a reputation he'd worked _years_ for, ever since his eyes opened—and that Boreal would be his first lieutenant. By Vereor standards, having a second-in-command was the same as having a friend.

It wasn't Boreal's fault if Kiro suddenly didn't think that was true.

"So? I _knew _it! That's not _fair,_ Kiro!_"_ he said enviously. "Corporal before you're a month past your fourth birthday, and here I'm five and a half and not a word about a promotion!" He paused expectantly, clearly waiting for a response; normally, this is where Kiro would grin, posture a bit and then remind him of the rank he'd be sure to get once Kiro was higher-up. When it didn't come, Boreal's ears flicked back angrily. "Hey, what's your problem?" He shoved Kiro once more, causing him to stagger, and there was nothing playful about it this time.

They'd stopped walking; Boreal's irate bulk was blocking the way, not that Kiro had really known where he'd been going anyway. He'd just wanted a minute alone to mourn his—

_Traitor!_

—his brother, and he did _not_ need this right now. The one thing Boreal had that set him apart from the other cannon fodder was his sheer size; he stood several inches taller than Kiro at the shoulder, and in his more charitable moments Kiro would swear he weighed twice as much in pure muscle. The last thing he wanted in his current mindset was a pride-fueled wrestling match with _Boreal._

"N-nothing," he stammered, stepping back; retreating from a challenge for the first time since he'd been a runner. Boreal followed menacingly. "I just wanted to be alone, I have… I was going to…"

He wracked his brain, frantically trying to come up with a suitable reason for why he didn't want to celebrate his promotion with his trusted second-in-command.

By some miracle, one presented itself. A heavy trapdoor, hidden in a snowdrift, was shouldered open in a cloud of white by—as fate would have it—Boreal's sire. A huge, muscular wolf with unusually light fur and bright green eyes, he shook a few stray snowflakes out of his pelt and gave a long, satisfied stretch.

Boreal snapped to attention instantly. "Lieutenant Hemlock, sir!"

Hemlock looked around, recognized Boreal and flicked proud ears forward. "At ease, son," he said easily, padding over. "Kiro, congratulations on your promotion."

"I'm… I'm sure Boreal won't be far behind, sir," Kiro replied. The words sounded scripted and unfeeling, but Hemlock accepted them easily.

"No indeed," he said. "Boreal, much as I'm sure you were looking forward to your friend letting you in on some… officer benefits early, you'd best get a hunt and a rest in. You're coming on the raid tomorrow. Do well and there may be rank in it for you."

Boreal lit up. "Yes, sir!" he exclaimed. Then, for one of the first times that Kiro had seen, he actually appeared to think. "…Officer benefits?"

Hemlock barked with laughter. "Oh, dear," he grinned at Kiro. "You didn't invite him, did you? Boreal, lad, where did you think he was headed without you?"

Boreal frowned and glanced between Kiro, the trapdoor and back again, a sly grin spreading along his muzzle. "_Oh,_" he said with an air of sudden understanding. He gave a sudden laugh, cuffing Kiro playfully. "You could have just _said_ so!"

"Um," Kiro stuttered, unsure of what had just happened. "I… didn't want you to feel left out?"

"_Kiro."_ Boreal was practically drooling with admiring envy. "You'd better tell me _everything."_

With no real option, now, Kiro made a sloppy attempt at a cocky grin (hopefully that was appropriate for the situation) and slipped down into the dark. The trapdoor swung shut behind him.

* * *

The silence was eerie.

It was warmer in here than outside in the snow, but not by much; the heat came mainly from the staggered torches, which provided enough light that he didn't trip on the stairs and kill himself. The flames flickered and threw their changing light along the shadows of the wood grain in the long double line of thick doors. The doors looked solid and menacing, set with barred windows that had started to rust in places. Some of the doors had been gnawed along the edges of the windows; the tooth marks were stained with something dark, as if whatever had been trying to escape had been desperate enough that they continued even as their mouth bled.

_What was this place?_

Out of morbid curiosity, Kiro stepped closer to the nearest window and peered inside. Four pairs of wide eyes, green in the dark corners, stared back at him. The shivering, terrified creatures made no noise; they just cowered against the far wall and trembled. One pair of eyes closed, and its owner turned to hide her face. As Kiro's vision adjusted, he saw the barely-healed bite marks along her shoulders and flanks, and the old brand burned into her side. Her—they were she-wolves, all of them, and he finally realized where he was. He'd heard of the officer's harem, of course, they all had, all the deputies joked about what they would do when they finally got rank…

But this… this was…

_Evil._

He backed away quickly, wanting to apologize—for the cruel injuries, for frightening them, maybe just for intruding—but at the same time afraid to break the oppressive silence. And maybe, if he was honest with himself, ashamed.

Even the torches down here burned without sound. The only thing Kiro could hear was the muted click of his own nails as he crept tentatively along the stone hall.

Gradually, he became aware of whimpering.

Kiro followed the weak little sound almost to the other end of the hall. He found the source in one of the last few sets of doors; a desperate whine of pain and fear, a panting as whoever it was tried to stifle the sound. He placed a paw on the door, and was relieved when a quick blue flash of magic curled around the lock. Only a Vereor wolf or one of the Queen's own servants could unlock these cells; apparently his promotion had been made official.

Very, very carefully, he nudged open the door. He was immediately hit with the scent of blood.

A pair of she-wolves was huddled in the far corner. At first he thought that they were both completely covered in blood; as he crossed the threshold and an interior torch magically flared up, however, he realized the pair had the same shade of vibrant red fur. It was something of a relief, until he _really_ took them in.

One, curled in a tight ball, was twitching and whimpering uncontrollably through her teeth, almost hyperventilating, her tightly-clenched muzzle the only thing that kept her from screaming while the other hovered over her, helplessly licking at her fur. When the torch flared and she saw Kiro, the latter cringed away in stark terror and he got a proper look at her cellmate.

She was beautiful—they both were—or might have been if she wasn't quite so wretched. There were deep, fresh bites along her forelegs and shoulders, and a few on her sides and even her belly—evidence of a desperate struggle. Her muzzle had been brutally ripped, staining the floor as well as her young face. Her ears were shredded, covered in blood, and the smell that permeated the room told of different wounds, deeper and more painful, that there was no curing.

Instinctively, Kiro tried to move to the poor creature's side. He was barred by a wall of snarling fury.

"You stay away from her!" The she-wolf's voice shook, but she stood her ground. "You stay away from her or I'll kill you!"

"Jen," the battered she-wolf croaked weakly. "Don't…"

Kiro's ears flicked back out of pure habit, tail lifting. He wasn't doing anything out of his rights, even if he _had_ intended to hurt the she-wolf—but there was something that gave him pause. The Wolf in front of him was clearly frightened, visibly not a fighter—her defensive position alone left her vulnerable to at least four kinds of fatal attack. And yet… she didn't move. And finally, Kiro recognized the look in her eyes. It was the same strange power, the same mix of gentleness and fire that had led his brother… he waited for that other part of him to chime in with _traitor_ but it never came… his _brother_ to live and die, not for his Queen, but for his people.

Bloodlust, he realized in a sudden rush of realization that felt wonderfully, wonderfully _right,_ would drive a Wolf without thought or mercy against his enemies. Courage would plant them in front of their friends—and it would keep them there.

His tail lowered.

"She's hurt," he offered. "I can help."


	30. Flashes

**A/N:** Just to be clear: this next chapter actually takes place over the course of about a year and a half.

**Chapter 30-Flashes**

"Fearing beh'er?"

Calliope tensed as the door inched open. "Yes," she said warily. "What's it to you?"

Kiro nudged the door out of his way with difficulty, holding a small vial carefully in his teeth. He set it down in front of her as the cell door swung shut behind him. "I brought you another healing potion," he said, ignoring her tone. "You need to drink this one undiluted; some of those stomach wounds are starting to look infected." He didn't know much about healing; he had decided on smuggling Calliope the same kinds of medicines recently given to a young runner who'd been badly injured in a training exercise, and hoping for the best. It seemed to be working reasonably well so far, at least.

Calliope gave the vial a distrustful look. Jenga nudged her flank pointedly, and she scowled and took the potion in her teeth, tossing it back with ill grace.

Jenga watched her sister swallow. As Calliope limped into the far corner and curled up pointedly, nose to the wall, Jenga turned and bobbed her muzzle to Kiro. "Thank you for your help, sir," she said nervously. "I don't know what we'd have done without you."

"Ask him what he expects to get out of it in return," Calliope said bitterly.

Kiro dropped his eyes in shame.

* * *

"We had no idea why he kept coming back," Jenga confessed. "Cal had her suspicions, of course, but…"

"…but since when did the Vereor bother with seduction?" Canisp finished quietly.

Jenga dipped her head, encouraged. "Exactly. He brought Callie painkilling potions every few days until she stopped needing them, but then he kept coming anyway, just sit there awkwardly and try to make conversation…"

Kiro stirred. "Too often," he said. "The others started to notice."

"And you made your reputation on it, and made it that much easier to come see us," Jenga reminded him.

Kiro stayed silent, and Canisp suspected there was more to the story.

* * *

As the long, unbroken winter dragged on, Kiro's visits to the cell increased in both frequency and length. Calliope remained steadfastly silent, often refusing to so much as look at their visitor. Jenga, while still nervous around the powerful black Wolf, was at least capable of holding conversation.

They had, as could only be expected, very little in common. Nevertheless, they found things to talk about. They traded stories—dark and disturbing fare on both sides, but nevertheless stories—of their respective upbringings, aspects of the system hidden from the opposite sex. Jenga took advantage of Calliope's refusal to speak, and dug up as many embarrassing stories about her twin as she could remember.

One night they split the contents of a Dwarven flask, and Kiro managed to tell her about Lucifer.

He wanted to know about life in the cells; never quite satisfied with Jenga's carefully neutral answers, he would ask every few days, troubled ice-blue eyes never able to meet hers. "But what's it _like?"_ he would ask. The first time he posed the question, it was met with accusing silence; he waited for a few moments, saw the look on Jenga's face, and left without a word.

One day, as he was sharing a large rabbit—not Rabbit, never again—with a surprised and grateful Jenga ("I never see you eat, and you always look so hungry…") the trapdoor opened.

* * *

"Is that what it's like?" he asked, an eternity later, as the last echoes of the mighty trapdoor's closing carried away the sound of desperate, sobbing pleas for mercy. His voice cracked with horror.

"Every day," Jenga whispered, and he never asked again.

* * *

Kiro still didn't respond, and Jenga paused her tale, looking up at her silent mate.

* * *

When he next came to them, Kiro was in a panic.

"Drink this!" he ordered. The cell door banged open on its hinges, making Jenga jump and flinch. He ignored it, dropping a crude paper-wrapped bundle of leaves in front of them.

Calliope's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Why-"

"Soak them in water, mash them as best you can and _drink it!"_ he exclaimed wildly, and then he whipped around and was gone.

Without a word, Jenga dropped the packet of leaves into their water bowl, crushed them under her paws, and split the resulting bitter mixture with Calliope.

Half an hour later, they vomited it back up at the feet of the newly-promoted Corporal Boreal, come looking to enjoy his officer benefits; he had followed Kiro's scent, which was everywhere in their cell, curious to see where his future Captain spent so much of his time.

He left them in disgust when Jenga proved to have better aim than her sister, and when Kiro heard it from Boreal later that evening he was hard-pressed to keep himself from howling for joy.

* * *

"About that trick you played with the poison tea."

Kiro looked up in shock, almost frightened at being openly addressed by the Wolf he needed to stop thinking of as Jenga's Evil Twin.

"I'm sorry I made you sick," he said. "I didn't have time to explain-"

"No," Calliope cut him off. "Thank you."

He looked at her in wonder, and try as she might Jenga couldn't keep her tail from wagging happily.

* * *

"I'm sorry about Calliope," she said quietly one evening, lingering over the last of a neatly devoured rat that was so big Kiro had had difficulty convincing her it wasn't a Rat. "It's hard for her to trust an officer."

"And it's easy for you?" he countered.

"I'm more used to trusting people. I have Cal."

"She has you, too," he said softly, glancing over at the still form in the corner. She was making a show of being sound asleep. "You're just more trusting than she is. You're different, Jen."

It was the first time he had ever used _her_ pet name, and Calliope (who was not sleeping by any stretch of the imagination) stiffened.

Her twin didn't notice. "You're different, too," she pointed out in a near-whisper, hesitantly letting herself touch the very tip of her muzzle to Kiro's.

"I'm not one of them," he said slowly.

Jenga looked at him, eyes soft. "Maybe you're one of us," she suggested.

"I'm not sure," he said honestly, torn. "I think maybe I'm just one of me."

Without letting herself think about it, Jenga tucked her head under his, and noticed for the first time how gentle his scent was.

"That's good," she murmured, and Kiro's eyes drifted shut at the sound of her voice. "That's enough."

He didn't go back to his room that night; he slept curled up beside Jen, and the hole in his heart that had been aching since Lucifer's death filled up, just a little.

* * *

"What do you dream about?"

Kiro opened one eye. "What?"

Jenga waited.

He considered the question. Somehow, he doubted "chasing pheasants" was the answer she was looking for.

"Sometimes," he began finally, "I dream about my brother." He scratched idly at the stone floor. "I dream about saving him."

"Callie says she doesn't dream," Jenga said quietly. The Wolf in question threw her a dirty look. "But I do. I dream about running," she continued. "Just running. I run and run and I never get tired. The air is warm and fresh, and there's…something, on the ground, that feels good on my feet. Not like stone. And…" She blushed, but continued determinedly, "I know it's strange, but there are these tiny little lights, high above me, and it feels like they're watching me, but…it's a _good_ feeling."

Her eyes had lit up (beautifully, he thought) as she spoke, and now she dropped her head to the floor and covered her muzzle with a paw, like a pup playing Hide-And-Go-Seek, embarrassed at the fantasy.

"It sounds beautiful," Kiro managed, and tried to keep his heart from breaking as he realized she had never seen the stars.

* * *

Jenga shifted fully to face her mate.

"Kiro," she said, low and intent, "It _wasn't your fault."_

* * *

By now, Calliope had grown accustomed to the regular visits. While she was still careful to keep her guard up at all times with Kiro in the room, she no longer turned her face to the wall and refused to acknowledge his existence. (Jenga had a shrewd suspicion that Kiro's supply of fresh meat had something to do with her sister's change of heart.) After realizing that her death-glares did nothing to intimidate the two mated Wolves into halting any sort of affectionate activity whatsoever, she had even relented enough to simply ignore said interactions, and while Kiro doubted he would ever truly win Calliope's blessing, he was at least spared from bearing her curse.

It came as a surprise, therefore, when one afternoon Kiro was once again met at the door by a furious whirl of fur and teeth.

"_You!"_

Kiro yelped in undignified terror, leaping away in time to save his skin. Calliope stalked after him, hackles raised, a rich, throaty snarl thrumming in her chest. For a moment, Kiro considered bolting, wondering if she would follow him and how he would explain it if she did.

"Me?" he squeaked.

Calliope's ears were folded back so fully they seemed to be fusing with her skull. "Do you realize," she growled dangerously, "do you have _any idea_ what you've _done?"_

Kiro backed away, bumping into the far wall. He was not sure how to respond to this, especially since he had not, to his knowledge, done anything. Calliope might well have torn him to pieces then and there had Jenga not intervened.

"Callie." Her voice, from somewhere inside the cell, shook slightly, and she sounded very tired. "Don't. Leave him alone."

Calliope did not look at all inclined to do so. However, she relented enough to take half a step back; and while she didn't relax her raised hackles, she let the bloodthirsty snarl die in her throat, and Kiro decided it was probably safe to go in.

"Jen…?" he said warily, conscious of Calliope's glare raising heat blisters on the back of his head.

Jenga was tucked tightly into the very furthest corner, curled as close to herself as possible and apparently trying to merge with the shadows. She barely glanced up as Kiro padded up to her; her gaze sketched briefly over his before she looked away again, unable to hold eye contact.

A jolt of primal fear shot through Kiro's center. Hurriedly, he ran through a mental list of the Vereor officers. He didn't _think_ any of them had come to the harem since he left it last, and ever since…well, ever since _Jenga_ he'd been keeping almost subconscious track of these things; so far his secret vigil had been perfect, but someone _could_ have slipped past him…

"Jen," he said urgently. "Jenga. Did someone hurt you? Who—was it Boreal? If it was Boreal, I swear by the Lion-"

"Do you ever listen?" Calliope snapped. "It was _you_."

Kiro looked between the two identical she-wolves, bewildered by what seemed to be two Jengas, one silent and depressed, one sparking with anger, neither making any sense. "I haven't been here since yesterday!" he protested. "Whatever's going on, it wasn't me!"

A low, warning rumble sounded in Calliope's chest. "Well," she said, silkily soft, trembling with barely-repressed fury, "Why don't you tell that to _the pups she's carrying!"_

There was a loaded silence.

Kiro turned to Jenga, struck almost dumb by shock and a faint glimmer of wonder.

"How do you…" He swallowed thickly. "Are… do you _know?_"

Jenga still didn't meet his eyes. "I knew a week ago," she whispered to his left shoulder. "Now I'm certain."

"_You_." Calliope growled, advancing menacingly on him. "How _dare_ you? You have no _right!"_ Even as he feared for his life, Kiro had time to be stunned; there were tears of true despair welling in the indomitable she-wolf's eyes.

"I thought you loved her!" she cried. "At the very least I thought you _cared!"_

Kiro gave a low, confused whine. "Jenga," he pleaded, "I don't understand."

It took several long minutes for Jenga to answer. Her head lifted slowly, eyes downcast, as if bound to her muzzle were all the weight of the world itself, this one and the next. When she finally spoke, her voice was dead, numbed with pain.

"They'll take them, Kiro," she said dully, addressing the stone between his paws. "They'll take our pups. The officers will come and take my sons before they're even properly off my milk and I'll never see them again." Her voice cracked. "They'll never even know my name."

There was no comfort to offer; Kiro knew only too well the truth of her words.

He wondered if his own mother had cried at the thought of him growing in her belly. He wondered if she'd mourned when he'd been taken, or if she had been glad to see him go. But the Vereor only took males…

"What if it's a daughter?" he offered hesitantly.

Jenga finally looked him in the eyes. "You need to ask?"

He didn't. He'd seen it. He knew.

"…No," he said, so quietly even Jenga didn't hear him.

Calliope's anger seemed spent. "Kiro," she said haltingly. "There are… there are ways to… potions, that…" She sighed. "It's kinder, that way…"

"No."

They heard him that time. Both she-wolves looked up in surprise at the new firmness in his tone.

"Kiro-" began Calliope, but he cut her off.

"_No_," he said again. There was a dizzying, electrifying current running under his skin, crackling and swirling against his sternum, a curious fire that was half terror and half elation, stirring and inflaming his blood in new and unfamiliar ways. He was once more balancing at the edge of a crucial abyss, faced with the choice, and this time—this time—

Lion and lamb—he wanted to _fly_.

"They won't get our pups," he said, low and intent. "Because we're going to _run_."

Jenga looked up at the announcement, scared and confused and not daring to so much as hope, and a protective surge flared in Kiro's veins with enough force that it almost knocked him off his feet. For the first time, he knew—he _really_ knew, _oh, Lu, I understand now—_why his brother had never willingly given in to bloodlust. He was afraid to lose _this_, or corrupt it beyond recovery; this fire that warmed but didn't burn, that had the power to throw sparks of itself into others and fill them with the _same_ flame, while bloodlust could only sow fear—because courage was like flying, clean and pure and—

"I love you!" he blurted, making Jenga jump. It was too loud in the small space, but he didn't care. He was a Wolf, for the first time in his life; and for the first time in his life he was _free_.


	31. Home

**Chapter 31-Home**

"You ran away," Orion said in wonder. "You actually _left?"_

Jenga's open, gentle face shut down. She didn't speak.

"We tried to," said Kiro. "It went badly."

* * *

"Quickly!" Kiro hissed, glancing nervously over his shoulder. Their plan was very simple, almost ridiculously so; it consisted of _wait until the sentries are distracted and then run for our lives._ The distraction was the key. He had spent the better part of a week figuring out the best way to get as far as possible without raising suspicions; at this point, everything depended on time. "Hemlock's raid is due back any minute; we have to run out the side while they're coming in from the front or else the sentries will…"

He trailed off as he realized there were three Wolves in the cell already.

Calliope, eyes wild with hate, crouched to spring in the corner while Janus, supremely indifferent, stood over a whimpering Jenga. The terrified she-wolf was backed into the far corner, cowering against the black stone.

"Kiro." The lieutenant looked at him suspiciously. "What are you talking-"

Kiro forgot his training, forgot the carefully perfected dancing attacks of a fighting Wolf. He was across the room before Janus had time to see him move; he tasted fur and fear and dark blood, dragged the larger Wolf away from his mate by the throat, held him down and didn't release his struggling captive until he felt the heart stop beating.

Silence.

Silence and blood.

"…Kiro?" Jenga panted in wide-eyed fear.

"Are you all right?"

She nodded and swallowed hard. There was still fear and shock in her eyes, but she was rallying quickly. "Kiro, Calliope…"

"I'll be fine," Calliope said. "Take care of Jen."

"Are you hurt?" he asked sharply.

"No," she answered. "I'm trouble. According to _him_." She jerked her head awkwardly at Janus, and Kiro understood.

Locked around Calliope's neck, where there hadn't been before, was a heavy iron collar.

"We're staying," he said immediately.

"Can't you get it off?" Jenga asked.

Kiro examined the lock and shook his head. "Not without a Dwarf or a Hag at the very least, and there's no excuse they'll accept. Janus put it on, he's the only one who can take it off."

"Then we're staying," Jenga said firmly.

Calliope didn't bother with her usual rough argument; there wasn't time. Looking her sister in the eyes, sadder and hurting more than Kiro had ever seen a Wolf, she briefly touched the very tip of her black nose to Jenga's. It was a perfect mirror image, from the curl of their tails to the placement of their paws, and Kiro felt a pang for a connection he could never share. Calliope didn't say a word—she simply held her sister's gaze, love shining out of eyes left unguarded for the first time Kiro had ever seen, and gave a low, pleading whine.

Jenga shrank and crumpled, agony too great for tears etching itself into every line of her being. Calliope tried instinctively to move to her side, but the chain stopped her short. Instead, she reached out a paw and placed it over her twin's.

"Raise your pups," she said quietly. "Run. Hunt for yourself. Get over the Western border, into the High Mountains if you can, just like we planned. Make your own Narnia—the way it was supposed to be. And—Jen—Jen, I—"

Jenga rushed forward, burying her face in her sister's fur, an impossible goodbye that should at least have taken years, but they had no _time…_

Calliope knew it. "Go," she said gruffly.

"No!" Jenga cried in a sudden panic. "Callie, please, there's another way, there has to be-"

"Go!" she ordered. And then, in a low growl to Kiro, "Get her out of here _now."_

It was a crime against nature, a separation that should never have happened. It was _wrong_ on every level. But they had no time and no choice; and so Kiro clenched his heart and his teeth, grabbed his mate by her scruff and pulled her, nearly catatonic with grief, from the cell. They left her sister, the Wolf she had never been parted from since birth, chained to an underground wall, alone in the dark, with the body of Janus for company.

They would never see each other again.

* * *

"From there you can guess," Kiro finished.

"You didn't make it out," Canisp said quietly.

"We got out of the Palace," Jenga said, studying her paws. "But a sentry spotted us. I was too slow."

"We were halfway to the trees when he turned back," Kiro clarified. "We only caught the tail end of the raiding party. It wasn't her fault."

Further description was unnecessary; Canisp knew what would happen next. It was all too common a scene in the Long Winter. The fleeing innocents, the dark forest, the brilliant snow shining in the moonlight, marking a trail not even a day-old pup could miss; and behind them, baying in the freezing night, distant but gaining, always gaining, the killers in pursuit.

"Kiro tried to hold them off…"

And then the inevitable, the quarry brought to bay, and she could see it too clearly: in a hidden gully, the howls growing too close now, the black Wolf planted himself in front of his mate—the mate he had never considered couldn't run, had never been given a chance to exercise and grow strong, who now crouched in the snow, shell-shocked and gasping, while cold blue eyes scanned the trees and dared the world to threaten her...

"He told me to run for it, but I couldn't leave him," Jenga whispered. "Not like that…"

"…Not when he was all you had left," Canisp finished, and the red wolf in her mind's eye drew herself up proudly on shaking limbs, stood beside the Wolf she loved, and sealed her fate. Another look of wordless companionship passed between them before she added softly, "You're braver than I was."

"Maybe," Jenga said. "Or more of a fool. We were captured." She closed her eyes at a pain that, old as it was, still ached. "We lost our pups."

Kiro didn't move, but somehow his posture became sheltering. "They killed them," he said tonelessly, tucking himself around his mate as if to guard her from even the memory. "As they were born. They made me watch." A cold look entered his eyes. "It took four of them to hold me down. One of them died."

"But…_why?"_ Orion asked, aghast. "Why not keep the pups, like they would have normally? Wouldn't that have been cruel enough?"

"Nothing is cruel enough for Maugrim," Canisp said. Kiro looked at her and dipped his head, barely perceptibly, in acknowledgement.

"Traitor blood, they said." His voice was carefully even. "Tainted. They had to be removed."

"It was because we almost escaped," said Jenga. "They had to make us an example. I still can't believe they let us live." Her voice was hollow. "I didn't think the Vereor realized there were fates worse than death."

"Maugrim did." Canisp's voice was carefully even.

"Maugrim was an expert," Kiro agreed, equally toneless.

Canisp hesitated. Kiro saw it, and answered the question she didn't dare ask. "He decided that I had defected because of my mate and pups. He said that if I cared so much about the lives of she-wolves, I might as well join them. And be used like them." He paused, debating something to himself, then added, "And they made sure I could never have pups again."

He shifted uncomfortably at the memory, curling his tail close around his body. Orion winced, and Canisp had the sick feeling it hadn't been a curse that gelded him.

She wondered, with a sort of horrified detachment, if it had been Boreal.

There was a short, pained silence; and then, as if they had just come over the top of a tall, steep hill, some of the tension seemed to ease.

"I didn't even know if she was alive," Kiro said softly, looking at Jenga with indescribable tenderness; the pain was still there, but it was lessened slightly by the sight of his mate, healthy and free and lying quietly beside him. "And she thought I was dead…"

"I thought _I_ was dead," Jenga said with a shaky smile. "When I saw him in the courtyard. I thought I was dreaming again. I was looking for Callie…"

The longing in her voice made it clear; Calliope had never made it out of the dungeon.

"I'm sorry," said Orion.

"Don't be," Jenga told him with a small smile. "We're the lucky ones. Most of the survivors have never taken a mate, or a pack. I think… most of them never will again."

"They've earned that much," Orion said, unusually quiet. "I don't suppose those wounds will ever quite heal."

"They're healing," Kiro said in his calm way. "Healed enough to raise their sons without fear. We all have scars. But even the scars that never fade are still wounds that have _healed."_

Behind him, the fire was almost dead, the embers glowing with quiet warmth. Hosni had at some point vanished from his corner, but very faintly over the sound of the storm it was possible to hear quiet nickering from Vesta, and even the occasional horsey snort of laughter. It was raining in earnest now, a constant rushing sound against the mountains outside; but the den was dry and warm and peaceful, tucked carefully away from the storm.

After a long, tired silence, Jenga stirred.

"We're safe now," she said, head resting wearily against Kiro's strong shoulder. "We're judged for who we _are_ here, not who our parents were." She paused for a moment to look up at Kiro. "Or who we used to be," she added softly, and he touched his nose to hers. After an aching moment, she turned back to Canisp.

"It's over," she said. "We're home." And for the first time, something so deep inside Canisp it barely had a name started to believe it.

**A/N: **Thank you for sticking with me. Here are some band-aids for your soul. If you feel the need to wail incoherently into the review box, please do so.


End file.
